Mayson watched Jonathan glide around the kitchen in preparation of their meal. He hadn't said much over the last several days, spending most of his time locked within his own mental prison, trying to tunnel his way out of the mess he was in.

The corners of his mouth twitched upward before falling again as he watched his friend's back as he quietly made dinner. He didn't deserve this man in his life. He never had.

Jonathan Carson was the best thing to ever happen to him. He was the first that didn't beat on him for the thrill of it. He never raised his hand in anger. Thinking back he could only remember a few times Jonathan was ever even mad at him.

And when he touched him, he was soft. Jonathan had never touched him in any way sexual and Mayson didn't know how to process that. Jonathan always said he loved him, but if he loved him why wouldn't he want him? He looked down at his cloth-covered chest.

He saw through the black t-shirt to the multicolored, marred skin beneath. He thought of the many scars that lined his body, reminding him of a past he'd rather forget. Mayson closed his eyes as shame burned within him. He was disgusting. Ugly. Worthless. His entire life he'd been told these things and worse.

He knew he was only worth what someone could take from his body. Mommy's little whore. His mother's ruthless laugh echoed around his head before he felt the ghost of her hands on him, her body and mouth against him.

The air was purged from his lungs as her vile taste filled his mouth. His eyes watered involuntarily and somehow he got enough air back in his lungs to cough and choke.

Jonathan turned around at the sudden commotion behind him. Too engrossed in his task and his own thoughts, he hadn't been aware of the change in atmosphere. The scene before him made his heart race.

Mayson's face was beet red, his cheeks wet with tears falling in streams from those haunted green eyes.

"Fuck," Jonathan exclaimed before turning off the burner and stepping over to the sink. He grabbed a glass off the dish rack and filled it with water from the tap before rushing to Mayson who was still gasping for breath.

He took the water and drank it greedily, trying to dispel her memory from his mouth. He nearly dropped the glass he was shaking so badly.

"Mayson?"

Nothing. No reaction. Mayson's eyes remained focused in the distant past and didn't seem to be returning. Jonathan scanned Mayson's face with worried eyes.

"Mayson, come on, man, come back to me. Mace..."

Not knowing what else to do, and absolutely dreading the reaction, Jonathan slowly reached out and touched Mayson's shoulder.

"No!" Mayson shrieked, his eyes wide and unseeing, and in his haste to get away from her offending touch, threw himself off the stool he'd been sitting on. He landed with a hard thud that jarred his neck backward, throwing his head into the tiled flooring.

In his panic, the pain didn't register and he scrambled backward, his terrified howling, unlike anything Jonathan had ever heard. The sound cut Jonathan to the core and he felt as if his heart was being squeezed by a mechanical hand incapable of showing mercy.

Jonathan stood paralyzed by this play-by-play. He was completely transfixed by the terror written all over Mayson's face, in his screams, pouring from his green eyes.

As if something kicked him into gear, Jonathan snapped out of his daze and was instantly at Mayson's side. With only a moment's hesitation, Jonathan pulled Mayson into his lap, pulling him tightly against his chest.

Mayson fought and screamed and kicked and clawed, screaming, pleading in gasping sobs 'not tonight. Please not tonight.'

Jonathan held him, the strength in his embrace never wavering as he whispered words of comfort and love. He didn't know if he was getting through but his talking made him feel better.

After several long moments, Mayson finally quieted, his wrenching sobs calming to a soft mewling. Mayson's hands clutched fistfuls of Jonathan's shirt, his face buried into Jonathan's chest.

Mayson listened to the soft sounds flowing from Jonathan's lips. The words weren't important and if asked Mayson could not say what the words were, but he knew they were soothing his tattered soul.

Eventually, his tears slowed, then stopped altogether, though his hands never let loose Jonathan's shirt.

"Hey, sweet babe, how about some dinner, huh? We can eat and throw on a few movies. I just picked up a new sack, so we can get stoned and laugh ourselves into a coma."

Jonathan smiled as a small laugh bubbled from Mayson's throat.

"What do ya say, huh? Sound like a good way to spend a Saturday?"

Mayson nodded, a couple of fresh tears slipping from his reddened eyes. Jonathan hugged him closely as if trying to transfer everything he couldn't say through touch, gently kissed his temple, and relaxed his hold.

"Not yet," came Mayson's broken imploration. "Please, Jonny, don't let me go yet."

Jonathan drew his arms around him once more, both giving and receiving as much comfort and reassurance as he could.

"I'll never let you go, Mayson," he whispered into his ear.

Several moments later Mayson took several deep breaths before pulling back away from the only safety he'd ever truly known.

Jonathan reached up, paused when Mayson inhaled sharply, then gently wiped his face.

"I'll never hit you, my love," he whispered. Mayson lowered his eyes before Jonathan guided them back up with a finger under his chin. "I'll tell you that and show you that until you no longer fear it. Until you no longer watch my hands, till you're not leery that one day I'll snap."

More tears replaced the ones Jonathan wiped away and he wiped those away as well.

"You've never told me what happened before we met in any great detail...and I don't know exactly what all has happened with Lucius...I hope that one day you'll trust me enough to tell me. But I will never hurt you. Not this way...if I ever have or do in the future...it'll never be in the form of violence. I'll never degrade you or make you feel less than. I'll never purposely cause you pain. All I want is for you to be happy. For you to feel safe."

Jonathan's thumb swiped across Mayson's cheekbone. Mayson shook his head in denial.

"I'm not asking for anything, Mayson. If you never..." Jonathan paused, his heart breaking at the mere thought of what he was saying. "Never feel the same way back...what I'm telling you now will never change. I love you. I'd never hurt you. That's what real love is, Mace."

Mayson didn't reply. He stared at hands as they clutched desperately to Jonathan. He didn't want to listen to Jonathan's words. He could no longer hope for love, for love has only ever caused him pain.

That evening saw them into clouds of smoke, their favorite Disney movies, terribly unhealthy snack foods, and laughter. Jonathan kept his eye on his companion, his heart warming each time with each smile and bout of quiet laughter.

He's so beautiful. If only he knew...if he believed me. How could anyone ever hurt him?

"Jonny?"

"Hm?"

"Are you okay?"

Jonathan met Mayson's worried eyes and he smiled even as his heart was breaking.

"Yeah, I'm good, Mace."

Mayson frowned breaking eye contact. He seemed...disappointed...? Jonathan couldn't tell. The light mood from moments ago had quickly been replaced by sad, heavy tension. Mayson gnawed on his lower lip nervously and Jonathan wanted nothing more than to kiss him.

Jonathan looked to his left to find that Mayson was suddenly much closer to him, their arms lightly brushing against each other in teasing contact.

"Mace..." Jonathan whispered and licked his lips. He leaned slowly to his left, green, and brown eyes locking. Their lips touched lightly at first before Jonathan dared to try and deepen it. He didn't have the courage for anything more than full contact, not wanting to scare him by using his tongue.

Mayson leaned into the kiss, leaned into Jonathan, his hands resting against Jonathan's well-toned chest. A low, involuntary moan absconded his throat and his body reacted instantly.

Without warning, Mayson reared back, the fear of the situation and what it meant suddenly colliding into him. He had to get away. He needed space to think.

Jonathan watched him scramble backward and rush from the living room and then the front door. He never once looked back.

"Fuck," Jonathan whispered brokenly before it all became too much and he wept.