fair/unfair

18.

       Reid didn't know why he thought kissing Mal was going to change anything.

       Even just the phrase—kissing Mal — felt weird on his tongue. As if it even came close to being the weirdest thing he's had to endure this summer. It felt ... he didn't know how it felt. Liberating was a good bet. Then again, so was fucking bizarre.

       He thought maybe all of this time he was suddenly spending kissing Mal was going to get him more answers - not about their respective fathers, he was done and over with that. No, just about the intriguing boy himself. He thought, maybe they'd talk more. Laze around the road hole, slowly get the Fox to open up, and they did go to the road hole more often, but anytime Reid tried to bring up a topic that he's found is in Mal's book of banned conversational topics, Mal kissed him to shut him up.

       Which, surprise, was his new favorite thing.

       Reid asked about his dad, and Mal would tighten his hands in Reid's shirt as a brief warning and when Reid would keep pushing, Mal would be shoving him back against the ground and straddling his hips, their lips meeting before Reid could even protest or say anything more.

       Reid tried to ask about his ailing mother once, and Mal hadn't looked up from his phone at first, just kept tapping away. Sometimes he let those questions go unanswered, but most of the time he was knocking Reid's legs open with his knee and slotting himself between them, grabbing Reid's chin tight and holding him right where he wanted him as their mouths sought each other out.

       Reid wasn't complaining.

       Kissing, it seemed, was as far as Mal was willing to go—as far as Reid even dared to go. Even then, when they weren't kissing, Mal was looking. Reid never knew how much Mal looked until he'd confessed that he did.

       He'd started up on his community service again, actually cleaning when Elena directed him to do so. If he was mopping floors, Mal accompanied him, leaning against the lockers and then-there. Looking. Eyes dark, heavy-lidded. They didn't roam, just found a particular spot and practically worshipped it. Today, he was watching his neck, eyes tracking the bob of his throat, every dry-mouthed swallow Reid forced down when he saw the intense way Mal was gazing at him.

       "You're staring," Reid said, voice shaky.

      Mal didn't even blink. "Mind your own business."

       "It's my neck."

       "Is it?"

       Reid stopped dragging the mop, and leaned against the handle. "Just because you've marked me without my consent does not make me your property."

       Mal's eyes moved to the mark in question, the hickey he'd sucked into Reid's neck a couple of nights ago and was just now, finally fading. The first time the other Foxes had seen it, they'd choked on their own spit, turning wide eyes on Mal who was fiddling with his knife and daring anyone to say anything. Reid's own friends, alternatively, didn't even blink. They were used to Reid showing up with random marks.

        The Fox didn't say anything, just smiled faintly. Reid hated that infuriating fucking smirk. He scowled and went back to mopping, scrubbing the floor harder than he had before. A loud crack broke their heated silence and Reid stared at the split in the wooden handle of the mop.

       A choked laugh grabbed his attention. "What did that mop ever do to you?"

       Nick was sauntering up the hall towards him and as soon as Mal saw him, he pocketed his phone and took off in the opposite direction. Reid watched him go, bewildered and a bit annoyed at not even getting a goodbye, before turning to face the other Fox.