Page 100 of The Mourning Throne
Hell,hedidn’t exist.
Nothing mattered, and all he wanted was to lay down. He couldn’t keep looking at the dresser, tilted and wrong. The drawers should’ve been falling out. There should’ve been clothes everywhere—Morgan should have beenabsolutelylosing his shit.
But everything wasfucking normal.
Normal.
What did that mean?Anything?
I just need sleep. I’m tired. Today was… a lot.
Lex kept repeating it to himself, over and over, and he knew it was true. He did. Somewhere.
But his body?
His mind?
Neither were listening, not in the way it counted.
All he wanted was the bed. Something soft. Somewhere that didn’t spin when he looked at it.
But Morgan caught his hands.
“Don’t fight,” Morgan murmured, the grip on Lex’s wrist too tight. “I need you to listen. Can you do that?”
Lex could’ve sworn he nodded—felt his head twitch—but Morgan didn’t look any more pleased.
Morgan didn’t look like like his usual self at all. Not neutral. Not bored. No blank expression, dead to the world, like he got right before murder.
It couldn’t have beenconcernon Morgan’s face. Because it was Morgan, for fuck’s sake.
But it’s not as if anything was real, anyway. Not tonight. Not right this very second.
The bathroom was already warm when Morgan pulled him into it. Lex flinched as his foot hit the tile, slick with water. The heat was instant. It crawled up his skin, licking at his ankles, his calves, soaking straight through the fabric of his jeans. He tried to pull back, but Morgan didn’t let him.
There should’ve been steam on the mirrors—jesuswhy was it so hot—but, where were the mirrors again?
Never mind. Not important.
“Listen,” Morgan repeated. “Don’t forget to listen.”
“I—” Lex tried, voice cracking. He wasn’t even sure what he was going to say.It’s too hot? I can’t do this? I wish I never fucking came here?
Morgan didn’t let him speak. Just held him with both hands now, wrist and shoulder, and guided him forward until the backs of his knees hit porcelain.
Lex blinked. The tub had water in it already. Too high, almost sloshing over the edge. The surface shimmered, all heat and sharp, invisible sting that told him exactly how bad it would burn once he was in.
Drowning was the worst way to die, wasn’t it?
Please. God. I don’t want to fucking die.
Morgan didn’t hesitate. He reached for Lex’s shirt, pulled it over his, and let it drop onto the floor. Then his jeans. The denim peeled off his skin like it didn’t belong to him, tugged down in practiced, brutal efficiency.
Lex made a sound when his boxers scraped a cut on his hip he hadn’t realized was there. A whimper, more like. Something small and pathetic.
Morgan still didn’t speak, not until Lex was naked and shivering, even in the unbearable heat. He brushed his knuckles down Lex’s sternum.
“Get in.”
