Marcus frowned at him. "S'in my room, where it's always been." Which was when he realized how it sounded, and he rolled his eyes. "S'not trying to get you to fuck if you don't want to. My back fucking well hurts. Shoulder, too, but I can get that on my own. Isolde worries." And she'd take care of things for him, but she'd chide him for getting into the position where he'd gotten hurt, even knowing exactly why he had and that he'd do it again the next time he was out.
He led the way through the hallway, picking at the buttons of his shirt as he walked, stripping it off as he pushed through the door into his room and tossing it into the laundry for the elves. The t-shirt underneath went next; he wasn't embarrassed about the nudity, and stayed focused on the bruising at this point. Had to stay focused. Even if it was avoiding things.
It wasn't bad, considering the day he'd had. One set that was clearly fingerprints over his left shoulder, and likely blows to the front and back around it. The one at the base of his back was thick and dark, spreading rapidly with a dark imprint that was likely a foot. Marcus reached back, fingers spread over where it ached, pressing into the edges of it where they slipped below the waistband of his trousers. "Fuck," he muttered.