At beautiful Marcus gasps and shakes his head fervently, one hand wringing the headboard and the other splayed on Midnighter’s chest. He doesn’t need that, can’t trust that. Doesn’t want to think about it. It’s too nice, too tender, Midnighter’s nonsense assertions about spoiling him far too tempting even though he knows it’s just talk. Not only does he not deserve the way Midnighter treats him, he can’t afford to pretend that he does. Just —

He needs to not think about it. Suddenly, he needs very badly to not think about anything at all. So he bears down and screws his eyes shut and mutters, “Harder, then, harder, make me — ”