Marshal sat still on Sunpan Modern Bugatti Grain Leather, jaw drooping downward towards the polished floor.

Bubba rolled his eyes, short spandex creeping up his legs as he casually readjusted himself. It was as if he'd genuinely thought the Prince's life had been perfect up until ths point. Like he couldn't believe anything bad had happened to him ever. Where did that naivety come from? Was it his own fault, for projecting himself as more than human, or the fault of those who took this projection seriously?

"Your father is a total ass."

The candy prince nodded, propping his legs up on Marshall's lap. Marshall could practically imagine the sensation of Bubba's soft and tender skin brushing up against his, although his wretched jeans restricted him from actually feeling it. What he did gain, however, was a quick glance at the exposed flesh of the other boy's legs, and the reminder that his spandex continued to rise up,up the point of slight exposure of pink satin-

On purpose or an accident? Marshall's covered his face, red splotches reappearing along the his pale and sunken cheeks.

"And he really never hurt you? Like, phisically? You promise?'

Up until this point Bubba almost forgot that he hadn't actually confessed his story so much as rebranded Flame's gang stories and put his own name on it, and at the reminder of this he was proud of himself once more. The nosiness was really getting to him. It itched in a part of him that he couldn't scratch, each question throwing him more off guard than the last. So even if, especially if, it required lying, Bubba would put an end to them once in for all.

Still, for some odd reason, the prince couldn't bring himself to make the closing false promise, even if it meant Lee's constant nagging would fade away like abandoned childhood memories.

"Lee, when is the last time you checked your tongue?"

No answer. A plastic paperclip could have been lightly placed on one of the leather sofa cushions, and the sound from the mation would render one deaf.

Bubba sighed, chucking a pillow at Marshall's face. The prince's arm held a surprising amount of strength, and Marshall Lee's jaw seemed to snap sideways on impact.

Really? You want to play doctor, and then you further my injuries?

At least, now that Marshall's head was facing in the other direction, it was easier to avoid staring at those obnoxiously gorgeous limbs, astonishingly hairless. If it had been anyone else, Lee would have thought for sure they shaved, but Bubba was already so impossibly clean and perfect that it seemed more likely not a single hair grew outside of the area atop Bubba's head than that he shaved on a daily basis.

"You haven't been taking care of it, have you?"

I asked you a question first.

It occurred to Marshall that perhaps the teen was attempting to distract him, which only increased the concentration of his anxiety. Still avoiding looking down at his lap, Marshall inhaled deeply, leaning down to pick the soft pillow up off of the floor. Lee was cautious not to be too sudden in his movement, allowing a portion of Bubba's lower body to remain comfortably perched on his lap, because the other boy's comfort held more value than Marsh's own distress.

"He hurt you, didn't he?"

Regardless of if they both thought he was, Marshall wasn't stupid. Biased, naive, and impulsivemaybe. But he had remnants of a brain.

Bubba was now swallowing deep breaths of his own, gazing up at the ceiling as if it were coated in a thick layer of stars. Although the guest living room supplied the boys with just the right amount of air conditioning, and the prep was hardly clothed, he still found himself reduced to the revolting habit of sweating, his sticky body nearly glued to the rich white leather. Aware that Marshall had likely taken note of this, Bubba retracted his legs, pulling his shorts back down to an appropriate length, straightening out the areas where his clothing had been bunched up, which was almost everywhere. He sat on his own thighs now, huddled against himself for the time being.

The prince hated sweat. He hated sweat, he hated fathers, he hated not being in control, and he hated telling the truth. And more often than not, all of those things he hated found a way into his mind or onto his tongue whenever the naive dark-haired boy was in his presence. It was almost masochistic, the way he knew what Marshall would do to him, knew what would happen to his heart rate and his mind, yet he still continued to allow the boy to speak with him, to touch back when he touched, and to stare, almost every time they were together Marshall was staring at him.

You could tell the truth, you know. If he tells anyone, it's not as if you couldn't make him pay. This one gets hurt easiest of all.

So why did he feel that when he was mean to Marshall, like he was hurting himself just as much?

Bubba wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead, placing his right hand on Marshall's thigh to steady himself. The non-sweaty hand, of course.

The sensation sent a jolt up Marshall's spine, blatant in the way that he replaced himself, and "shivered" upon impact. This made Buba smile, though not visibly. He liked knowing what kind of an effect he did and could have on others.

"I'll help you treat your little wound, and then you need to leave." He said it as if he was still trying to convince himself. Marshall still had so many questions about everything, and his main one had yet to be answered. As they traveled toward the first floor bathroom, following the pink path that was the main hall, Bubba's sweating slowly eased up, and he held Marshall's hand in order to properly guide him.

"He never hurt me, Marshall, not even a scratch. Not that this should concern you anyways…"

Marshall smiled slightly, like an idiot, watching the prince beside him step so delicately towards the bathroom door, one foot almost perfectly aligned in front of the other. If the floor were to be replaced with a tightrope at any given moment, there was no doubt that he wouldn't have fallen.

"Promise?"

The ceiling was filled with galaxies again, and the ever so graceful beauty almost walked right into a painted pink wall. He was distracted again.

"I promise."