Unlocking the door, Marton moves into the house whistling a bit.
Craig had made dinner, having expected Marton home for it. It's cold by now and has been put away and he's a little annoyed. He hadn't called his Sir though, and he's willing to give the man the benefit of the doubt. He looks up as the door enters, watching Marton.
Dropping his keys on the table, Marton turns and stops. He smiles. "Hello."
"Hey," Craig says quietly, not getting up from where he's curled with his book. Looking at his Sir, it's obvious where he's been and Craig hates the twinge of hurt it makes him feel. It wasn't like they couldn't be with anyone else, but the arrangement was they let one another know beforehand.
"I.." ...should have called, should have come home, should have not beat and fucked someone else... "...need a shower," Marton says. You're the Sir, act like it, Csokas. He nods. "How was your day?"
Craig just blinks. "You could have at least showered," he says, an edge to his voice. "Dinner's in the fridge, I'm going to bed."
"Wait," Marton steps forward. "I'll go shower and come back down."
"I'm going to bed," Craig repeats.
"I told you to wait."
"And you breeched our contract," Craig states simply. "I'm going to bed."
"No." Marton narrows his eyes. "I did not have another boy. It was - a bit of entertainment at Citadel. Nothing more," he says, trying to convince himself with his own words.
Every time - every bloody time he goes to see Elijah, whether they do anything or not, Craig feels guilty because he knows it hurts Marton. But this... Craig doesn't say anything, just turns and walks away.
"Craig!" Marton barks. "I said - your Sir said to wait!" He moves across the room toward Craig.
Craig stops, turning back to Marton. "You showed zero respect for me tonight so right now, I'm not willing to respect you as my Sir. I'm going to bed."
Drawing up close to Craig, Marton's eyes widen and he reaches to grasp Craig's arm. "What the bloody hell?!"
"Let go of me," Craig says quietly as Marton reaches for him.
Marton takes a breath. "Blue, let me explain."
Craig didn't want to hear it, not right now... not after everything. "Dinner's in the fridge, eat it or throw it out, whatever. I don't want to talk about anything right now."
"Go to bed then," Marton says, releasing Craig's arm with a shove. "I'll get my dinner and see you in the morning."
Stumbling as Marton shoves, Craig is caught off guard and frankly shocked by the action. He just stares at Marton for a moment, then turns and leaves the room quickly without another word. What the hell was going on?
Blinking, Marton looks down at his hand. He can still feel the warmth of Craig's skin. Moving on autopilot he forgoes dinner, going up to shower and have a drink before falling into fitful sleep.
Craig's up early, going about his morning routine just because it's familiar and allows him to not have to think too much yet.
Cinching his dressing robe, Marton walks into the kitchen. "Good morning little boy blue," he says in an overly jovial voice.
Craig ignores the man, still smarting from last night, as he continues with breakfast.
"I said good morning."
He's your Sir, Craig reminds himself, even if he had been a bastard. Though, it could be argued... "Good morning," he says tightly.
"Thank you," Marton says, nodding. "Breakfast smells good." He moves up behind Craig, wrapping his arms around him and nuzzling the back of his neck. "And so do you."
Craig pulls away, refusing to act like last night hadn't happened. "It'll be ready soon... Sir."
"Mmm, good," Marton says, going to the table and sitting down. He picks up the newspaper and begins to read through it. "Do you have anything planned today?"
"I was thinking of maybe going to Citadel and finding a bit of entertainment," Craig responds, knowing it's childish and knowing he wouldn't really do it.
Marton's head snaps up. "I bet I could find better use for that smart mouth than saying things like that to your Sir."
"Go to hell," Craig mutters, turning away.
"What!?" Marton says loudly. "You will not speak to me like that. Come here and kneel."
Craig's jaw sets. "No," he says. He can't... deal with this on his knees like nothing is wrong. He just... can't... as much as he wants to; as much as he just wants to kneel and pretend nothing is wrong.
"I beg your pardon?" Marton says. "Did you just tell me no?"
"We seem to have a problem."
"Yes, we do. Why should I respect you if you don’t respect me?"
"Fine," Marton snaps, standing and folding the newspaper before slapping it down on the table. "It was nothing. But if you want to make a thing out of it, fine. When you decide to get over it and return things to their proper way. Let me know."
"And if I came home still smelling of another man when you had expected me home would it be a thing?" Craig demands.
Marton swallows, looking away for a minute. When he finally looks at Craig the fierceness is gone from his face. "Yes." He sits back down. "I'm sorry Blue."
Craig stands with his back straight for a few long moments.
"Please sit down," Marton says, gesturing to a chair.
Finally, Craig moves to sit though he won't look at Marton.
"It was - nothing, really," Marton says, reaching for Craig's hand. "He wasn't a sub. It was - very spur of the moment. Forgive me?" He tugs at Craig's hand gently, smiling.
Craig pulls away. "That's not good enough," he says. "You wouldn't let me get away with a shite answer like that."
Marton's narrows his eyes, lips tight. "Fine. It was wrong. I'm a bad Sir. What's my punishment, boy," he says in a growl.
It's not even the tone that hurts so much as the - attitude that he has no right to be hurt or upset. He turns his face away from the man, jaw tight.
"I tell you what," Marton says, standing again. "Let's do this later. I'm going to get dressed."
Craig wants to ask why? Wants to ask what happened to the Marton that had been here before... he wasn't sure he liked this new man. Instead he simply rises and moves back over to the breakfast preparations.