First Of Many Demons To Face

Priestly carried Mars all the way up the stairs to their motel room, kissing his forehead repeatedly. He breathed a sigh of relief as he laid him down on the musty-smelling bed, hurrying to the larger first aid kit he had brought.

"How much does it hurt?" he asked, smiling gently. "On a scale of one to ten, please."

Mars just stared at him, attempting to sit up.

"I-it's fine, I can do it," he insisted, not wanting to force Priestly to waste any more time on him. It was all his fault he had gotten possessed, anyway. "It's not that bad."

He tried to smile, to prove it, but he couldn't quite bring himself to.

"I like taking care of you," he said, heating a pot of water on their hotplate. "Now how much does it hurt?"

He didn't want to answer the question truthfully. Instead, he replied with, "you know...I thought you'd be trying to take advantage of me. I'm kind of surprised."

He finally managed to laugh, even if it was somewhat pitiful.

"I can't believe you haven't groped me yet."

"You're injured," he said, sounding honestly surprised. "Is that the kind of man you think I am? There will be plenty of time for such things when you're all cleaned up."

He chuckled, unbuttoning Mars's shirt.

"Now let's get a clean bandage on this--I'll clean off all the blood, okay? Just relax."

"Yes...that's exactly the kind of man I thought you were," he mumbled to himself, feeling a wave of nausea. He swallowed it down, looking away. "...thank you, by the way...have I said that yet? I...thank you."

He looked at Priestly, and while he was still in pain, he felt much better already.

"You...saved my life."

"It's my job," he said brightly, removing the wad of blood-stained gauze. He frowned, looking at the wound carefully.

"Hang on."

He dipped a washcloth into the now boiling water, then used it to wash off Mars's chest and wounds. With that done, he opened a tiny packet with a peroxide-soaked wipe.

"Now, Marsy, this will sting," he said, rubbing it over the open cuts.

He flinched visibly, digging his fingernails into the sheets. He bit his lip, trying to resist the temptation to yelp in pain.

He wanted to tell Priestly to stop, or to quit, but he knew he couldn't. Instead, he opted for nearly tearing the bed sheets.

When he was done, he threw the wipe away and proceeded to apply Neosporin with his fingers.

"Good boy, Marsy...almost done..." He wrapped fresh bandages around Mars's stomach, securing them neatly.

"And there we go! I don't think you'll need stitches, but we'll see how they heal.

Mars reached up, somewhat awkwardly touching Priestly on the chest.

"Uhm," he said, trying to form words without sounding too gay. Oh, he was going to sound gay no matter what he said. Swallowing his own pride briefly, he said, "I really, really mean it...thank you, for...uhm, well, everything. I...I'd be dead, if it wasn't for you."

Mars wasn't referring to the possession, but Priestly didn't need to know that.

He grabbed Mars by the wrists and gave him a long kiss on the mouth.

Mars stared at him, bewildered. He didn't have the energy to push Priestly away, or he would have. At least, that's what he had convinced himself of, as he sat idly and let the kiss happen.

He pulled away, beaming.

"You're welcome, Marsy," he said, casually patting his head. "Any time you need anything, you can always ask me."

He tried to look annoyed or embarrassed, or angry or anything, but instead all he could do was look away and try not to blush.

"What was that for? You're such a pedophile, creepy, jerk," he mumbled, in what was his most insincere attempt to date.

He brushed Mars's hair back to kiss his forehead.

"Oh, do relax, Marsy. You won't get better if you fret." He slipped the remote control into Mars's hands.

"Here, pick a program you like on the telly."

"I don't want to watch TV," he replied, holding out the controller for Priestly to take. He just wanted to sit around and talk, though he pretended he didn't want to be kissed more.

"Do you want a massage?" he chuckled, wiggling his fingers.

"N-no," he mumbled, even though he did. He crossed his arms. "I don't want you to touch me, you ugly butt."

He grabbed Mars's foot and began massaging it.

"Don't be silly--you know you want it!" he purred.

He squealed and squirmed about.

"That tickles!" he yelped. "Don't touch my feet!"

"But your tumtums is injured," he cooed, not letting go. "Just relax, Marsy--close your eyes."

"I am most certainly not closing my eyes around you, pedophile!" he snapped angrily, trying to squirm out of Priestly's grasp. It was, however, futile, considering his current physical state. "How am I supposed to relax around you, either?"

"Who else is going to massage you?" he teased gently, tickling Mars's foot. "Come now, Marsy, you know I'm only trying to help."

"Then help some other way!" he insisted, squirming more. "And stop tickling me!"

"But I think you're enjoying it." He kissed Mars's ankle, chuckling.

"Come now, where would you rather have me touch you?" He slid his hand up Mars's leg, to the back of his knee.