Chapter Text
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.
Cecil never planned to bring a kid home, much less Mark Grayson. But when he found the boy cold and half-starved behind an abandoned warehouse, beaten down in ways that ran deeper than just blood and bone, he hadn’t been able to leave him there. Not when Mark looked at him with those stubborn, hurting eyes and said, “I’ve got nowhere else to go.”
So he took him in. Set up a room in his own house. Got him back on his feet.
At first, it was innocent.
At first.
⸻
Years passed faster than either of them realized.
Mark grew up into something reckless, something strong and wild, burning with a fire that couldn’t be tamed. He filled out fast, muscle layering over old scars, and with every inch he grew, so did that look in his eye—the one that made Cecil’s gut clench and his conscience scream.
Mark was legal now. Old enough.
But that didn’t make it right.
Didn’t make it any easier when Mark leaned against the doorway in just boxers, smirking that slow, dangerous smirk that said he knew exactly what he was doing.
“You work too much, old man,” Mark drawled, arms crossed over his chest, biceps flexing just enough to show off. “Should take a break. Relax.”
Cecil swallowed thickly and forced himself to look away. “Go put some damn clothes on, kid.”
“I’m not a kid anymore,” Mark said, voice low and teasing. He padded closer, bare feet silent on the hardwood, until he was standing way too close, radiating heat. “You keep forgetting that.”
Cecil could feel the warmth of him—so alive, so young, so hungry for something he didn’t fully understand.
Or maybe he understood it all too well.
Mark tilted his head, watching Cecil like a cat sizing up a mouse. “I see the way you look at me,” he said, almost playful. “It’s okay. I look at you too.”
Cecil’s jaw tightened. “Mark—”
Mark just grinned, reckless and devastating. He straddled Cecil’s lap without warning, legs bracketing his hips, hands curling around the older man’s tie like it was a leash.
“You gonna keep pretending,” Mark murmured, “or are you gonna admit you want me just as bad as I want you?”
Cecil’s heart hammered against his ribs. He should shove Mark off. Should tell him to grow up. Should walk away.
But Mark was right there, grinding down just enough to make Cecil’s vision blur around the edges.
“You’re trouble,” Cecil growled, hands digging into Mark’s thighs without thinking.
Mark smiled wickedly. “You like trouble.”
He shifted again, slow and deliberate, the heat between them catching like gasoline meeting a match. Mark wasn’t scared. Wasn’t hesitating. He knew what he was doing. And God help him, Cecil wanted to let him.
“Let me show you,” Mark whispered against his ear, breath hot and sinful, “how good I can be for you.”
Then Mark ground down harder, and Cecil’s control snapped.