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into his upper abdomen, and Loren restlessly rolled his own hips, seeking friction for his aching erection.
    Eliot took Loren’s chin in his hand and stroked his thumb back and forth across Loren’s parted lips. Loren chased it with his tongue, and Eliot laughed a deep, sensual laugh before leaning down and replacing his thumb with his hot mouth. Loren lay still and let him direct the kiss, closing his eyes, sliding his hands from Eliot’s hips to fill his palms with the firm globes of his ass. He squeezed and plumped them as Eliot kissed him slowly, deeply, licking into Loren’s mouth.
    The pleasure was overwhelming. It spread from deep inside him, all-consuming, curling his toes, arching his back. His senses were full of Eliot, the feel of his half-naked body on top of his, the sound of Eliot’s rough breathing, his own little moans.
    Loren tore his mouth free and gasped out, “Jesus, El.”
    Eliot pressed his forehead to Loren’s until they both got some control back, and then Loren cupped Eliot’s cheek in his hand, stroking along the high cheekbone, sliding his hand down to lightly encircle Eliot’s throat. He pushed Eliot’s head back and was leaning up intending to kiss his neck when Eliot gave a sharp gasp, a sound of pain, not pleasure.
    Loren let go of him in alarm, reaching over to switch on the nightstand lamp and then freezing in utter horror at what it illuminated.
    Eliot’s neck was ringed by livid bruises, the finger marks unmistakable, the delicate skin of his entire throat mottled.
    “What the fuck ?!” Loren pushed Eliot off of him and exploded off the bed. “Who did this to you, Eliot? Who did this?”
    He scrambled for some clothes, anything, yanking a T-shirt over his head, his whole body trembling with rage. A red haze descended before his eyes, and he barely felt Eliot scrabbling at his arm while Loren searched for some pants.
    “Tell me who did this, El,” he growled, not even recognizing his own voice, it was so guttural with anger and emotion.
    He didn’t wait for an answer, pulling on a pair of yesterday’s sweatpants and trying to cram his feet into some beat-up sneakers as he strode to the bedroom doorway. Suddenly Eliot encircled his waist from behind and held on, digging his feet into the carpet and trying to hold Loren back.
    “Let go, El!” Loren shouted. “Tell me where to find these motherfuckers who did this to you! I’ll kill them!”
    Eliot held on tighter, and Loren twisted and fought to get away, mindless with the need to crush faces, bones under his hands, fuck up the pieces of shit who would dare hurt someone he loved.
    “Loren, you’re scaring me!” Eliot’s anguished cry penetrated the haze in Loren’s brain, and he froze in horror, turning around, watching as Eliot backed away from him, his hands up.
    “Oh God,” Loren choked. “Baby, please. Don’t ever be afraid of me. Don’t ever—” He reached for Eliot pleadingly, almost sobbing his relief when Eliot threw himself into his arms without hesitation.
    “I’m not afraid of you, Loren,” Eliot croaked, wrapping himself around him. “I’m afraid for you. These guys are—they’re big, and mean. I was stupid. I—”
    “Did they hurt you? Like—like that?” Loren felt the anger strangle him again, and his words came out high-pitched and shaky.
    Eliot shook his head. “No, not like that. Me and some friends thought it would be funny to go to this—I guess this biker bar. They wouldn’t let us in, of course, underage and no fake IDs. So we hung out in the parking lot, sitting on the hood of someone’s car, drinking and doing some lines.”
    Just then Loren realized he only had one shoe on, the other shoe half-on and curled beneath his foot, his sweatpants on backward.
    He pushed Eliot away gently and said, “Let’s get situated and go downstairs to the kitchen to talk. I feel like some hot cocoa.”
    Eliot nodded and Loren put his clothes to rights, slipping his feet into a pair of