I apologize in advance to any of my followers who might actually like Savin, because this is the most awful thing he’s done in the entire trilogy. I also apologize for not posting this last night when I said I would — things got a little crazy at home and I forgot. So here it is, the part of Gray Morning I’ve been “affectionately” referring to as “The Assault.” 

“The fuck was that about, out there?” Savin snapped as he slammed the door behind him and Jazz.

Jazz winced, wrenching his hand free from Savin’s. “N-Nothing, Savin — he just wanted — wanted to make sure I was okay.” Since when did his voice waver like this, whenever he talked to Savin? Since when did his heart race like that? It felt normal, now, to feel this panicked. To want to run the second Savin glared at him.

“Fucking Christ, do you still believe that after all these years?” Savin asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You knowMitchel only wants to split us up — has since we first got together –”

“He’s not trying to split us up, you are,” Jazz cried, tossing his folder down onto the end table beside the couch. He steeled himself for Savin’s next line of assault, crossing his arms over his chest. He wouldn’t be afraid. Not now. If Savin wanted to be an asshole, let him. If Savin wanted to threaten him — to hurt him, he could take it.

Savin blinked at him before snorting with laughter, shaking his head. “Damn right I am,” he growled, moving dangerously close to Jazz yet again. His eyes flashed as he gripped Jazz’s chin, forcing Jazz’s gaze to meet his. “You sleep with him yet?”

Jazz’s eyes widened, his mouth falling open for a brief moment before he returned Savin’s glare. “I haven’t slept with anyone,” he said, his voice thankfully remaining steady. He could feel his knees begin to grow weak and his legs begin to shake, but he held his ground. “I’d never cheat on you, Savin.”

With another barking laugh, Savin let his hand fall away from Jazz’s chin. “Yeah fucking right,” he muttered, a smile breaking out across only half his face as he then put his hand on Jazz’s shoulder. He leaned in close, letting his lips brush against Jazz’s ear. “You think I don’t know, don’t you?”

“Don’t know what?” Jazz asked, his eyes closing as a shudder rippled through his body.

“You and Mitchel,” Savin clarified for him, his lips pressing against the sensitive skin of Jazz’s neck this time. One arm wrapped around Jazz, pulling him close. “You two were together.”

“That — that was before you and I even started dating,” Jazz managed, pushing Savin away from him. He hugged his arms to his chest, trying to put further distance between them as he glared at Savin. “It obviously didn’t fucking last.”

Savin grinned, shaking his head again. “I don’t mean before you and I started dating, Jasper,” he began, the grin warping into a twisted grimace. “I mean after that — I think it was what? Two weeks before we got married?”

Jazz’s knees gave out, causing him to crash backwards onto the couch. Savin knew. Savin knew about the worst decision he had ever made in his life — and had known for a long time, if the way he nonchalantly brought it up was any indication. Which meant, which meant…

“Mitchel told you,” he whimpered, his eyes stinging. “Mitchel told you, didn’t he?”

Mitchel said he wouldn’t. Said he’d keep it to himself, that he’d let Jazz and Savin be happy, that he would no longer get in the way. At the time, Jazz hadn’t believed him, but when Savin hadn’t asked — when Mitchel had stopped bringing up any and all of Savin’s flaws, he thought maybe, just maybe the asshole was capable of being human, just this once.

“He didn’t,” Savin said, smirking, and Jazz’s stomach plummeted past the floor. He towered over Jazz, his fists balled and shaking at his sides. Jazz flinched as those hands unclenched and moved towards him, causing a disconcerting laugh to escape Savin’s lips. “But you just did,” Savin continued, grabbing fist fulls of Jazz’s shirt and pulling him to his feet.

Before Jazz could scramble free, Savin slammed his back against the wall beside the couch. Air escaped him, and breathing became difficult. Savin’s knee slipped between his legs, spreading them apart. “When the fuck were you going to tell me you cheated on me?” Savin spat, nails digging into Jazz’s shoulders all over again.

“It — It was just the once –”

Bullshit!” Savin spat. “Bull-fucking-shit,” he repeated, gripping Jazz’s chin all too tightly with one hand while continuing to pin him to the wall with the other. He had both knees between Jazz’s legs now and pressed all too close against him. “You’ve totally been sleeping with him behind my back this whole time, haven’t you?”

“N-No,” Jazz gasped, shaking his head vigorously. He could feel his legs give out on him all over again as Savin leaned in close. As Savin kissed his neck yet again, causing his heart to stop. This wasn’t happening — this couldn’t be fucking happening.

“S-Savin, please, stop,” he breathed, the words spilled past his lips entirely unbidden. Savin would listen if he begged, right? If he pleaded? He had to , he just had to —

“Only when you tell me the fucking truth,” Savin said, his voice devoid of any emotion — not even the anger that had been present only moments before. That hand on Jazz’s chest began moving downward, the other tracing along the line of Jazz’s neck, nails raking against his skin. “Is he better than me?” he asked, his hand slipping past the waist of Jazz’s jeans.

“No!” Jazz bit his lip, looking away from Savin. A strangled moan escaped him as Savin nipped at his exposed neck and another chill froze him in place. “Please, don’t do this, Savin — don’t — just, don’t –”

“Why not?” Savin teased, smirking at him.

“Because –” he couldn’t believe he was considering this, that these words were about to crawl out of his throat. But if it would get Savin to listen — if it’d get Savin to stop touching him like this — “Because I have been — been fucking Mitchel. For fucking years.” Tears rolled down his cheeks as he spoke, making his voice rough and raw with emotion. He even dared to meet Savin’s perpetually dead eyes, the same ones that flickered with sick amusement at his “confession.”

“Of course you have,” Savin murmured, moving away from Jazz entirely, his eyes like ice all over again.

Jazz closed his own in relief, feeling strangled sob force its way to the surface. His back slid against the wall, his body giving out the second Savin let him go. He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t find the words. Couldn’t find his strength — the strength he had just for a fucking moment.

But he still needed it. Needed it now, more than ever, as Savin’s hands gripped his upper arms and pulled him back to standing. As Savin — his husband — forced him against the wall a second time, this time pushing Jazz’s front against it.

A sharp cry escaped him as Savin grabbed his hair and wrenched his head back, forcing their lips to meet in a twisted imitation of a kiss. His sobs growing louder when they broke apart — when he realized Savin was going to just continue assaulting him, anyway, despite Jazz telling him the “truth.” Jazz whimpered when he felt Savin press against him again — when Savin kissed his neck and bit down on his shoulder — far more roughly than he would have, in the past.

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Jasper,” Savin breathed, his lips brushing against Jazz’s ear. His hands were on Jazz’s ass, now, as Savin rubbed against him. “It hasn’t been fucking years. You avoided that bastard as if he had the Disease for at least a fucking year after we got married — so when, exactly, did you start fucking him behind my back?”

“I haven’t been,” Jazz insisted, screwing his eyes shut and biting his lip. This couldn’t be happening. Savin couldn’t possibly be fucking grabbing his ass that way — Savin couldn’t possibly be aroused, though Jazz couldn’t mistake that pressure against the side of his ass for anything else.

When Savin’s hands moved from his ass to his front, he thought for sure his heart stopped. That his lungs quit working. That everything just froze in place. Everything other than Savin’s fingers deftly unzipping his jeans. Savin’s fingers, slipping underneath his boxers. Savin’s fingers, uninvited, wrapping around him with a familiar rhythm. One that shouldhave been pleasurable, if it weren’t for the touch being completely unwanted.

Just to spite him, a familiar warmth spread through him and Jazz grit his teeth, biting his lip so hard he thought he might have tasted blood. Everything came alive again at once. Everything, including —

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Savin murmured in his ear, his free hand hooking under the edge of Jazz’s jeans. Jazz shook his head, struggled to hold back a whimper just as Savin chuckled into his shoulder. “I’m ready to go whenever you are.”

Savin’s hand just stroked him faster, reminding him that as much as he kept pleading for Savin to stop, he wouldn’t. His face felt wet and his knees buckled, struggling to hold him up even as he braced against the wall. Savin’s grip tightened, only making everything that much worse, especially when — no! No, he wouldn’t, not now, not like this. He needed to get free. Needed to get as far away from Savin as fucking possible.

The end table — something on the end table had to be within reach. Maybe the lamp? His hand frantically reached for it before Savin pinned it down with one of his own. “No, you fucking don’t,” Savin hissed, grabbing Jazz and flipping him around so that they were facing one another.

Jazz used the extra momentum Savin had given him, looking him straight in the eye as his right arm swung, his fist connecting with Savin’s jaw. Pain radiated up his arm and flared in his knuckles. It didn’t matter that his hand hurt. Didn’t even matter that he might have even broken it as he scrambled towards the door.

Only one thing mattered anymore: getting as far away from Savin as fucking possible.