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Tybalt sits on the couch Romeo bought, smoking a cigarette and drinking from a dark tinted bottle. His black tank top clings tightly to him, just like the black jeans do.

“That was my last fucking cigarette, you fucker,” Mercutio says, snatching the bottle away from Tybalt so he can drink from it.

“At least one of us should be sober tonight,” Tybalt says, his arm outstretched and waiting.

“What do you mean?” Mercutio asks, reluctantly handing it over.

“You owe me,” Tybalt begins. “So you have to pay me back.”

“What do you mean I owe you? You’re the one drinking my alcohol, smoking my cigarettes, sitting in my apartment because you lost your fucking key, again,” Mercutio snaps, sitting in the chair beside Tybalt.

“Don’t talk back to me,” Tybalt says, and it’s more of an order than a request.

Mercutio closes his mouth.

“A week ago, we were at that bar,” he says, mouth curling into a smile. “You got into a fight. With Sampson, remember?”

“I don’t remember Sampson, no,” Mercutio replies, looking confused and skeptical.

Tybalt sighs. “He’s got the dark hair, and he wore those really tight jeans?”

“You remember what he wore?”

“Yes, I tend to remember details of my last good fuck,” Tybalt says easily. “Anyway, you fucking provoked him like the shithead you are, and he fought back, and you ended up with bloody knuckles and a split lip.”

“Your point?” Mercutio grumbles, rolling his eyes.

“You would have ended up with worse if I didn’t pull him out of it,” Tybalt responds, something glinting in his eyes.

“Why would you stop the fight of I was the one getting hurt?” Mercutio asks, and then immediately regrets it.

“So I could have the upperhand,” Tybalt says, and Mercutio stays quiet until he continues. “I have a proposition, of sorts.”

“And what is it?” Mercutio asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Well, you see, you have to repay me someway, and what’s a better way than being my fuck buddy?” Tybalt draws his lips into a wolfish grin, and Mercutio might be getting a little dizzy.

“You want me to fuck you?” Mercutio asks, somewhat disbelieving.

“No, no,” Tybalt laughs, his head thrown back. “I want to fuck you, until you can’t walk, so that every time you sit down you think of me. I want to bruise your sides and leave an ache between your legs that’ll stay there for days.”

“What if I say no?” he asks, slowly, ignoring the arousal sparking in his groin.

“You owe me,” Tybalt says simply, his words lazy. “Also, I figured, I’m horny, you’re horny, the fuck isn’t good unless you know the person. We have a perfect situation.”

Mercutio considers it, for a moment, and it seems like a pretty good plan. Tybalt’s aesthetically attractive in all of the right ways--all of them--and he is horny, he could go for a good fuck or a week of them or a month.

“No,” Mercutio says, harshly, because--it happens often, these days--his mind wandered to Benvolio.

“Ah, unrequited love,” Tybalt croons, and okay, maybe he could read minds? “It’s hell, I’ve been there--” Mercutio arches an eyebrow. “--don’t look at me like that, I’m not bringing it up again. Oh, your poor little heart.” Tybalt pauses, and he speaks softer. “It could be a way to get back at him, you know. You could make him jealous.”

What?”

“Hearing ridiculously loud sex through the thin walls could make him so jealous that he’d go mad and eventually dig up the unwanted feelings for you,” Tybalt says theatrically, and grins.

“Absolutely not,” Mercutio says. “Pay me back for the cigarettes and the beer and go back to your own apartment so I can sleep.” Mercutio stands up, motioning towards the door. “I’m pretty sure Gregory’s there, he can let you back in.”

“Just think about it,” Tybalt says before winking and stepping out.

If Mercutio gets himself off later to the thought of Tybalt fucking him--and biting him and scratching him and bruising him--well, no one’s home anyways.

***

It’s all Balthasar’s fault, really, because he owns the coffee shop.

Romeo and Benvolio are there, because Balthasar hired a new barista and because someone has a 9 o’clock lecture today.

You can probably guess who’s here for what.

But, Tybalt is also there, along with Sampson and Gregory, who are glaring at Mercutio from their booth.

Mercutio does not note that Tybalt looks like pure sin in his dark blue shirt that’s far too tight and the jeans that are probably tighter.

He steals glances at them whenever Benvolio isn’t looking, and that’s when it stops being Balthasar’s fault and it becomes his own fault because, well, he’s the one who got up in the first place.

Mercutio’s going to throw away his cup, he swears, that’s all it’s for, and Tybalt just happens to be throwing away his cup, too.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Tybalt smirks, backing Mercutio up against the bathroom door, directly in Benvolio’s line of sight.

Tybalt ducks his head, catching Mercutio’s earlobe in a way that does not make him shudder.

“Have you thought about my suggestion, at all?” Tybalt asks, and Mercutio can see right over his shoulder, and yep. Benvolio’s staring at them with an expression of confusion and hurt and anger.

Fine,” he grits out, moving Tybalt’s shoulders so that he’s blocking Benvolio.

“What?” Tybalt asks, slightly taken aback and maybe caught off guard.

“I said fine, we can fuck all you want, or all I want, or both, I don’t care, as long as you’re fucking me,” Mercutio says, shifting so that he can rest his hands on Tybalt’s hips.

“When should we start?” Tybalt asks, teasing, with his signature wolf grin.

Mercutio hesitates, glancing over Tybalt’s shoulder, and just happening to rest his glance on Benvolio, who’s got his head stuck in a book. “Now. If you’re not doing anything,” he adds, quickly.

“I’m not doing anything,” Tybalt says, articulating each word carefully.

Approximately fifteen minutes later, Mercutio is under Tybalt, writhing and panting.

Tybalt kissed him bruised in the car, biting at his lip and licking into his mouth. Now here he is, pressing Mercutio back against his mattress, biting at his neck and licking at his collar bone.

Fuck, hurry up,” Mercutio whines, bucking his hips up.

No,” Tybalt growls the warning, teeth scraping along Mercutio’s hipbones before sliding his pants off, then unbuttoning his own jeans, sliding those off, too. “You’re not in control,” he says through gritted teeth and holy shit, Mercutio’s achingly hard and those words just make his mind cloud with lust.

Tybalt draws away, and Mercutio actually lets a whine escape from his throat, mixed with groaning, “Tybalt.”

A tsk comes from the side of the bed, Tybalt’s head lowered as he rummages around in the nightstand. “You’re needy, aren’t you?” he muses, setting the things he’s gathered down and moving back to Mercutio, placing another bite mark on his chest.

Mercutio groans, canting his hips forward one more time-- “Just fuck me, Tybalt.”--before Tybalt covered his index finger in lube, thrusts it viciously inside Mercutio.

“Oh, holy fuck, Tybalt, fucking move,” Mercutio grits out after a moan, his fingers digging into the mattress and twisting in the sheets.

Punctuating his words with a thrust of his fingers, Tybalt says, “What did I say? You’re. Not. In charge.”

Moans sound from Mercutio’s throat and he’s not trying to hold them back, not at all, not when Tybalt’s crooking his fucking two fingers and using his free hand to grip Mercutio’s thighs and he’s sure there’s going to be Tybalt sized finger prints there in an hour.

A third finger slams into him, and he cries out, the stretch painful and the way Tybalt rolls his fingertips across his prostate pleasure, waves of it rolling through him.

Tybalt leans down, his lips ghosting over Mercutio’s ear as he says, “You’re not going to come until I say you can.” Tybalt reaches to grab Mercutio’s belt, taking his wrists and tying them to the headboard, then pulling back so he can roll a condom on.

Mercutio nods furiously, already straining against the bonds, words spilling out of his mouth. “Yes, fuck, okay, please--Tybalt, fuck me, please, I need it, I need you,” he babbles, and Tybalt’s surprised.

“I didn’t have you pegged as a beggar,” Tybalt says before thrusting into Mercutio, setting a rough and fast pace.

Mercutio lets out a debauched and obscene noise, coming from low in his throat, as he twists his wrists, pulling against the belt that’s holding his arms above his head.

Everytime Tybalt thrusts in, the noise is ripped from Mercutio’s throat, his face twisting in pleasure. Tybalt grips Mercutio’s sides, his nails leaving crescent marks.

Each thrust is deeper, the head of his cock hitting Mercutio’s prostate and making him moan each time. The pace is brutal, and he can already feel the ache starting to form between his legs.

Tybalt groans, ducking his head to bite on the space where neck meets shoulder, hard enough that Mercutio calls out.  

“Please, Tybalt, I’m going to come--I need to come, please,” Mercutio chokes out, and Tybalt wraps a hand around Mercutio’s cock, the first attention it’s been given the whole time.

Mercutio tries to hold himself back, he bites his lips twists against the belt, but the overwhelming pleasure is building up.

“Come, slut,” Tybalt growls, still thrusting and stroking and nipping at Mercutio’s ear and it’s all too much because Mercutio’s oversensitive and he’s coming--harder than he ever has before--in white stripes on his chest.

Tybalt’s rough hand is still on Mercutio’s cock as he pounds in and out of him, and Mercutio whimpers, because every touch sets him on fire and he’s probably not going to be able to walk.

When Tybalt spends he bites Mercutio’s neck, and Mercutio’s cock twitches in a painful way, trying to get hard again.

Then, Tybalt nuzzles his head into Mercutio’s neck, pressing an open mouthed kiss there and gently sucking as the skin and with the slightest hint of teeth and oh. He’s definitely not being gentle anymore.

Tybalt pulls back, admiring his work. “That’ll leave a lovely bruise.”

The great thing about casual sex is that there’s not much to be expected afterwards, especially from Tybalt--it’s not like Mercutio is expecting cuddling.

Tybalt gives Mercutio a cigarette and some lukewarm shitty coffee in a mug that’s chipped and has no handle.

“Are you going to get out of my bed anytime soon?” Tybalt asks, pulling on his jeans.

“Probably not, since I literally cannot move,” Mercutio snaps, running a finger along the bruise that’s already forming on his side.

“It’ll be worse tomorrow,” Tybalt says with a grin.

Mercutio stifles a groan as he tries to roll out of bed, tugging on his shirt when he’s standing. “Yeah,” he says, “Because I’m coming back later.”

Tybalt laughs, quite darkly, and asks, “You have somewhere to be today?”

“I’m already fucking late for my lecture,” Mercutio says after sipping at his coffee and taking a drag off his cigarette. “And then I have another one this afternoon.”

“Not up for round two before you have to leave?”

“You’ll break me,” Mercutio says before leaving the room, stopping in the kitchen to refill his mug.

“What if I that was my plan?” The voice comes from behind him, breathing against the back of Mercutio’s neck.

Mercutio turns around to meet Tybalt’s eyes, ignoring his shiver and sparks of pleasure, his cock desperately trying to get hard.

“Then I’ll miss my lecture completely and I won’t even make it to the other one, since I’m going to have to walk,” Mercutio retorts, bringing the mug back to his lips.

“It’s a shame,” Tybalt says, smirking. “Also, you may want to keep your hands covered.”

“Why?”

“There’s marks.”

“From that God awful belt?” Mercutio asks, inspecting his wrists.

“You loved the belt,” Tybalt accuses, and Mercutio tries to hide his smirk and his dilating pupils.

Tybalt laughs, lowly, before walking back to his bedroom, appearing only moments later with Mercutio’s belt.

He hands it to him, and Mercutio only says, casually, “Thanks.”

“When you come back tonight,” Tybalt replies, “don’t forget it.”

Later, after hours of lecturing and sitting through class, he makes sure to grab the belt on his way out the door.

***

Romeo just doesn’t know when to close his mouth, does he?

It’s not like Mercutio looks like he’s in the mood to talk, because he doesn’t. Far from it actually, with the sunglasses and the sweatshirt and the coffee cup shielding half his face while he slouches in the booth in Balthasar’s shop.

“So,” Romeo starts, conversationally. “Where, um, where were you last night?”

“We were worried,” Benvolio interjects, his eyebrows furrowed, and Mercutio can feel the guilt eat at him.

“I was with a friend,” Mercutio answers slowly, after a sip of coffee.

Ooh, what kind of friend?” Romeo asks, suddenly intrigued.

“I have the mother of all hangovers right now, which includes the hugest fucking headache, so if you could stop talking,” Mercutio snaps, “that would be wonderful.”

“Someone had a bad night,” Romeo comments, and Benvolio elbows him.

“I have some Ibuprofen, if you want it,” Benvolio suggests, his eyebrows furrowing more, worried for his friend. “For the headache.”

“Or, I mean, maybe it was a good night,” Romeo continues. He notices when Mercutio flinces. “Oh, shit, it totally was! Who was it, now you have to tell me.”

“There’s no one--” Mercutio starts.

“Holy shit, what’s on your neck?” Romeo asks, his eyes wide.

Mercutio tries to cover it, hastily pulling up the sides of his sweatshirt.

“Oh my God, is that a hickey?” he asks, reaching out, Mercutio shoving his hand away. “Fuck yes, I knew I was right, you definitely had a good night.”

“It’s not a hickey,” Mercutio denies, annoyed.

Romeo’s jaw just about drops to the ground. “Oh, fuck, is it a bruise, did they choke you?”

Fuck, Mercutio shivers at the thought.

“It’s not anything,” Mercutio snaps. “Mind your own Goddamn business.” He pushes up his sleeves, reaching down to grab his books.

“Holy fucking shit.”

Great.

Mercutio quickly moves to cover up his wrists, since he pulled so tightly on that fucking belt, he’s got bruises there, too.

“No fucking way, are you shitting me?” Romeo asks, his eyebrows arched.

“Romeo, you’re being indecent in public again,” Benvolio says, his voice quiet and restrained.

“How is this public indecency?” Romeo asks, confused.

“Swearing in public,” Benvolio explains, and then he’s silent again, keeping his eyes on the table.

“And this isn’t? He’s walking around with sex marks,” Romeo exclaims, his eyes wide. “Are you going to tell me who they are?” he asks. “Because you can’t just brush off hickies and bruises. Especially on your wrists. They’re sex marks,” he repeats.

“It’s no one,” Mercutio tries again, standing and grabbing his bag before leaving the cafe.

***

Before Mercutio even makes it into the bedroom, Tybalt’s pushing him against the door, kissing his roughly.

Pulling back, Tybalt traces a finger along Mercutio’s jaw, and Mercutio closes his eyes and shivers, thinking about Romeo’s comment earlier today--and no definitely not about the way Benvolio was silent almost through that whole conversation.

He drags the finger down, across Mercutio’s pulse point, over his Adam’s apple, across his collarbone.

Mercutio shifts so he’s locked eyes with Tybalt.

“What do you want? Tell me,” Tybalt says, fingers reaching to wrap themselves in Mercutio’s short curls.

“Choke me,” Mercutio answers, not hesitating, and Tybalt stiffens. “And fuck me until I forget my own name.”

“You want me...” Tybalt says, fingers untangling from the curls to rest lightly around Mercutio’s neck. “To choke you?”

“Yes. Please,” he adds dropping his head.

“You’re willing to trust me with something as vital as your air supply?” Tybalt asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Mercutio says, nodding, feeling those fingers brush against his Adam’s apple once more, and oh.

“Are you sure?” Tybalt has to ask.

“Yes, very. Now get on with it,” Mercutio, pleads, and then gasps sharply, because those fingers have tightened.

“What about this is it, Mercutio?” Tybalt questions, pressing harder. “Is it the constant fear? That I might not loosen and you would be deprived of air until your face is purple?” He punctuates with another squeeze of his fingers. “Is it fear that gets you off? Because I can be scary.”

Tybalt loosens the fingers, letting Mercutio suck a breath in. “Yes, it’s the fear, oh my God,” he says, and then the fingers are back, choking off his words.

“What if I tied you up and choked you, like this?” Tybalt proposes, pressing down harder. “What if I tied you up, beat you black and blue?” Mercutio shudders, thinking about it. “What if I took you apart with my hands, made you come apart with my fingers alone?”

He releases his fingers again, long enough for Mercutio to gasp out, “Yes!” with his wrecked voice.

“Or maybe,” Tybalt starts, “maybe I could make you come just from this. My fingers wrapped around your neck while I talk dirty to you in your ear. Maybe I could make you come in your pants like a horny teenager.”

That’s going to happen, Mercutio thinks. In just about three seconds he’s going to come in his pants and then he’ll never hear the end of it.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Tybalt growls in his ear, and that goes straight to his dick. “With your mouth open, searching for air, your face turning red. You, like this,” Tybalt says, squeezing more, “that’s the best part.”

Mercutio’s vision goes white while he comes, and he’s gasping for air and he’s either going to pass out or fall down.

“I still remember my name,” Mercutio murmurs into the juncture of Tybalt’s neck, and Tybalt leads his shaking body towards the bed.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he replies, pushing Mercutio down on the mattress. Tybalt pulls off Mercutio’s clothing, and then his own, placing Mercutio’s belt next to them on the mattress.

Tybalt rakes his nails down Mercutio’s chest before fastening his wrists to the headboard with said belt.

“Hurry,” Mercutio whimpers, his cock half-hard.

“Hush,” Tybalt replies, reaching to grab the lube and a condom. He coats his fingers, and then thrusts one into Mercutio, who makes a soft, keening noise in the back of his throat.

“Fucking--Please, add another,” Mercutio says, his words slurring together as Tybalt thrusts another finger in. Mercutio moans, trying not to pull on the belt too much. “Fuck, just fuck me, stop teasing.”

Tybalt pulls his fingers out, and Mercutio whines at the loss. Tybalt’s cock is there to replace them, and it’s painful because Tybalt’s so big and maybe he wasn’t prepared properly but he doesn’t care.

Tybalt attacks his neck, biting and sucking and adding to the collection of hickies as he pushes into Mercutio, each thrust more painful and brutal.

“More,” Mercutio chokes out through his groans, head thrown back to give Tybalt more access, more skin to mark. “More, please, please, more, Tybalt.”

So Tybalt grabs Mercutio’s ankles, hooking them over his shoulder, the angle better. Mercutio bucks his hips, lifting to meet each thrust.

Tybalt comes first, groaning, and when he pulls out, he ducks down to wrap his mouth around Mercutio’s aching cock.

“Holy shit,” Mercutio says while Tybalt swallows him down, and without warning he comes.

Who knew Tybalt swallows?

“Fuck, Tybalt,” Mercutio groans, recovering while Tybalt undoes the belt.

“Did you forget your name?” Tybalt asks, smirking, tossing clean boxers to Mercutio.

Mercutio only laughs, shakily.

He doesn’t stay around, since it’s late, so he’s out the door within seconds.

***

Of course Romeo questions it when Mercutio comes home at one in the morning. Of course he does.

“Benvolio’s asleep,” Romeo informs him, arms crossed like a scowling parent.

Mercutio thanks God that Benvolio wasn’t there to witness the conversation that’s coming.

“Any new bruises to add to your collection?” Romeo asks, and Mercutio scowls at him.

“No, but I’ll add to yours if you don’t shut your fucking mouth,” Mercutio snaps, “I’m not telling you, nor will I ever tell you who he is,” says Mercutio, and fuck.

“Oh, they’re a ‘he’,” Romeo says, nodding his head. “Do I know him?”

“No,” Mercutio says immediately, and regrets it just as fast.

“Do we have to have the sex talk again? Do we need to cover casual sex?” Romeo asks, teasingly.

“Piss off,” is Mercutio’s only answer.

***

It’s not that Benvolio shows any interest in him, or in anyone at all, so he shouldn’t get his hopes up.

Especially when he’s screwing around with Tybalt.

Romeo’s studying with a blonde girl in his room, Benvolio’s off at a late class, and he doesn’t know where Tybalt is.

That is, until he gets a text.

[Tybalt: If you have any plans tonight, cancel them. I’m coming over.]

Mercutio glances at Romeo’s bedroom door, and then the front door, and then back at his phone.

[Mercutio: Romeo’s here, he has people over. Benvolio’s coming back later]

[Tybalt: Even better, they’ll be able to hear you scream.]

Mercutio does not blush. He does not.

[Mercutio: I don’t scream.]

[Tybalt: You will tonight.]

Mercutio sets his phone down and lights up a cigarette, taking a long drag off the end.

It’s not like Benvolio would ever reciprocate his feelings, or return them. Or even have them in the first place. So he won’t be jealous.

Not that Mercutio wants him to be.

But well, if Benvolio does get jealous, that’s only a plus, right?

***

Romeo doesn’t hear it when Tybalt comes in, and he doesn’t hear it when Tybalt slams the bedroom door, and he especially doesn’t hear it when Mercutio lets out the first moan as Tybalt pins him against the bed.

“God, you’re so needy,” Tybalt says, loudly, to Mercutio’s embarrassment. Tybalt pulls off his shirt, and then Mercutio’s.

“You’re the one who texted me,” Mercutio growls, kicking his pants off while Tybalt discards his own.

“You could have said no, I mean, people are in the next room,” Tybalt mocks, fumbling around in the nightstand.

“Bottom drawer. And you would have never let me,” Mercutio says, reaching down to stroke himself underneath his boxers.

“Don’t touch yourself,” Tybalt orders, setting down the things on the bed.

“Am I not allowed to come, like last time?” Mercutio asks, looking up as Tybalt hovers over him.

“I don’t care when you come; you can come anytime you want,” Tybalt says, “I’m just not going to touch your cock.

Fuck,” Mercutio groans, reaching up to kiss Tybalt, and Tybalt kisses back with more force.

In a quick motion, Tybalt slides off Mercutio’s boxers before dipping his fingers in the lube.

In a matter of seconds, Tybalt has his fingers at Mercutio’s entrance, teasing him until he’s writhing on the sheets.

“Tybalt,” Mercutio grits out, trying to fuck himself down on the fingers.

No,” he growls back, using a hand to pin down Mercutio’s hips. Once Mercutio has his toes curling from the first finger, Tybalt’s slowly adding another, and Mercutio’s being very vocal.

“Oh, God,” Mercutio moans, fisting his hands in the sheets. Tybalt curls his fingers, brushing over Mercutio’s prostate, and that’s when Mercutio actually calls out.

“Remember, there’s people in the room over,” Tybalt says, “You have to be quiet.”

Mercutio just whispers then, “Fuck, fuck, Tybalt, fuck me, please.” Tybalt adds another finger, the stretch burning. Mercutio brings his arm up to his mouth, biting the skin there until he tastes blood. Tybalt hovers over him, still fucking Mercutio with his fingers. He sucks at Mercutio’s neck, seeing the skin bruise over and over again.

Tybalt brushes over Mercutio’s prostate a few more times, Mercutio’s moaning, loud enough so the neighbors hear. Then he comes, and his moans get even louder.

Debauched and undone, Mercutio pulls down Tybalt’s boxers, grasps his cock in his hand. Tybalt thrusts into the touch, and within a few seconds he’s spent, his come on Mercutio’s chest.

Even after his orgasm, Mercutio’s still vocal, whimpering while Tybalt cleans him off.

Mercutio tries to stand, and once he’s done so, he pulls on boxers and sweatpants.

“Do you want food?” Mercutio asks, his voice hoarse and rough and wrecked.

“No, it’s fine,” Tybalt says, and then Mercutio sighs, flinging himself back onto the bed.

“We need to stop doing this.” he says, his voice small.

“I suspected as much,” Tybalt says, at the door. He flashes his wolfish, mischievous grin before leaving.

Mercutio’s still shirtless while he walks to the kitchen, his ivory skin that bruises like a peach exposed. Purple flowers down his sides, like ink that gathers at his hipbones.

He jumps out of his skin when he sees Benvolio standing in next to the front door.

“Holy shit,” Mercutio curses, “You scared me.” Before Mercutio steps into the kitchen, Benvolio gets a look at Mercutio’s torso, and a look passes over his face, one that Mercutio guesses is disgust--it’s not, though. It’s hurt and pain and confusion all rolled into one.

“Do you want tea?” Benvolio asks, dropping his bag on the table. Before Mercutio can answer, Benvolio is walking past him and into the kitchen, pulling out the kettle.

“How was your class?” Mercutio asks, his tone stone and forced.

“Fine,” Benvolio replies, his voice conveying the emotion from earlier. “So, um,” he clears his throat, “You and Tybalt are a thing?”

“Tybalt?”

“I saw him leave,” Benvolio explains. His face is turned, staring down at the boiling water.

“Just a sex thing,” Mercutio says, slowly.

“Oh,” Benvolio says, his voice quiet.

“But not... Not anymore,” Mercutio clarifies, and this time Benvolio meets his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“I told him we should stop? I don’t know.”

“Oh,” Benvolio repeats, turning around to make the tea.

“Yeah,” is all Mercutio says.

As Benvolio hands over the mug, he starts, “Did you, um--”

Mercutio cuts him off. “Listen, um, I don’t want things to be awkward anymore, and this may break that tension double it, but I really like you, and you just seemed not interested, like, at all, so I had to um. Improvise.”

Benvolio looks startled. “Wait, what?”

“I’m not saying it again--”

“No, you like me?” Benvolio asks, setting down his cup.

“Um, yeah, I just--”

Quietly, Benvolio interrupts, “Hush. I like you, too.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. But I didn’t have to screw someone to cope with the pining,” Benvolio says, grinning with an eyebrow arched.

Mercutio laughs, “Yeah, well.”

After a few minutes of silence, Benvolio steps forward, tracing a finger along Mercutio’s side.

“You should get these looks at.”

“You think so?” Mercutio asks. “How?”

“I don’t know,” Benvolio replies. “Go see a doctor. Ask Juliet.”

“Juliet?”

“Yeah, she’s the girl Romeo brought home.”

“Or you could patch me up,” Mercutio suggests, smirking.

“Yeah, right,” Benvolio says, pressing a kiss to Mercutio's cheek, and then he’s walking down the hall, grinning into his mug.