Work Text:
Mav stiffens as he hears Hollywood whistle, Wolf jeering a second later and then, shit—
Slider notices.
He knew he should’ve waited to undress. But they’d been playing volleyball (he hadn’t been wearing jeans this time, he’d learned his lesson, thank you very much), and he had sand in places sand should not be (the downside to wearing loose shorts that only went to mid-thigh). So he’d decided the risk was worth it, to sneak into the locker room and have a shower.
Only just when he’d been pulling his t-shirt over his head, the door had opened and those idiots he calls friends had piled in (minus Ice who was doing…something), and Mav had been too slow at covering himself back up for them not to see the mass of love bites all over his back and chest.
”What the fuck happened to you?” Slider asks; a gleeful smirk on his face. (An expression Mav knows means trouble).
”I think he was attacked,” Wolf says.
Hollywood nods in agreement. “Oh yeah. Definitely attacked. Only by what is the question?”
”Guys…”
They crowd around him, paying no heed to his warning. Wolf prods at his chest, and Mav winces because the hickeys and bite marks are a little tender.
”Ow, stop that, asshole.”
”Maybe he was attacked by a cat?”
Slider tuts and shakes his head. “Not enough scratch marks. This is clearly the actions of a biter.” He shucks Mav under the chin and then ruffles his hair; darting out of the way of Mav’s squawking whack of protest. “Clearly wanted a taste out of our little pilot, hmm?”
”Piss off, Sli.”
“Maybe it was a wolf?” Hollywood asks.
”Hey, I’m right here!”
Mav buries his head in his hands with a groan, wondering what he’s done to deserve these fools.
”No, no,” Slider says. “These are much smaller bite marks than a wolf. Something strange looking about some of them too.”
Mav growls in frustration, pushing his shorts off his hips. “Fuck off, all of you. I didn’t get attacked by an animal. You can clearly see they’re hickeys and love bites.” He glares at them one by one. “Assholes.”
Slider nods solemnly. “Ah so it’s a who, not a what.” He makes eye contact with the other two, and then they burst out laughing. Mav considers bashing his brains against the locker, but he’d really like a shower first.
In all the commotion, none of them hear the locker room door open.
”What’s going on?”
Mav looks up to find Ice stood with his arms folded, a blank look on his face. “I’m trying to have a shower. These dumbasses are being annoying.” Nothing new there. He tries to telepathically tell Ice that they’ve clocked all the marks on his skin, but unfortunately the infuriating blond just arches a brow at him. Trails his gaze down over Mav from head to toe, and he flushes, very aware he’s just in his briefs while everyone else is fully dressed.
”I see…”
”Look at him, Ice,” Wolf gestures at Mav. “Someone went to town on him, and Mav isn’t telling us who.”
Mav doesn’t point out that none of them asked.
Ice hums, and slowly saunters over to where Mav is standing. “That is a conundrum,” he murmurs. Palms Mav’s hip and Mav’s breath hitches. “Who could possibly have made all those marks?”
He then dips his head, and lining his mouth up with a bite mark on the curve of Mav’s neck, he presses his teeth down. It’s a perfect match. He bites down just a little, and the pressure makes Mav moan; dick twitching in his briefs.
The others go silent.
Ice then smudges a soft kiss to his neck and looks pointedly at the three stooges they called friends.
Suddenly all three of them are yelling questions at Ice about how? When? And why? (That one makes Mav scowl, because he has lots of desirable qualities, thank you very much. More than just the biteability of his body anyway).
Ice sighs like a parent with three troublesome children. (A very apt description, Mav thinks).
But while Ice (not so) patiently answers their questions, Mav takes the chance to shimmy out of his briefs, grab his towel and sneak away to the shower.
It’s only fair. It’s Ice’s fault he was covered in marks in the first place.
And at least this way the guys don’t see the love bites on his ass.