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Summary
"The knife doesn't mean you're in charge of me," Mark told him. Eduardo laughed, nails scraping Mark's skin as he pulled the shirt up again. "It's not an exchange of power; it's just about how it feels. Endorphins. What are you doing?" Fingers clenching around the hilt of the blade, Eduardo bit his lip, stilling in his descent toward Mark's stomach. He hadn't led with the knife, not like he should have. It had looked like he'd been about to press his lips above Mark's waistband. Mark fidgeted.
"Nothing," said Eduardo. "Don't I have the power if I have the knife?"
"Don't be stupid," said Mark, rolling his eyes.
