Mydjeken didn't give her a second look when Chrishton openly criticized him to Dorcas.
"I think 'e should let us do whatever we want, 'n keep his hands ta one woman."
The boy growled voicelessly in his throat and reached a hand past Chris to place a hold on Dorcas. Because she was a few steps above him, his hand caught her thick thigh. He was fighting to keep his gaze steady, somewhere in the ambivalent zone between the two motives of hostility toward Chris and entreaty to Dorcas.
Dorcas cringed when she was touched by Mydjeken, having no immediate defense to this unexpected act.
"That's right, what do you want, Dor?" asked Mydjeken almost levelly, but a slight tremor gave away his nervousness at his own clearly compromising situation.
Dorcas pursed her lips uncharacteristically daintily as she looked down at the boy's grip on her thigh and a more characteristically dark scowl pulled over her brow. "What do you want?" she retorted quietly.
Mydjeken's response was to inch his hand slightly higher on her thigh, rotating his wrist around toward the back so his hold was nearly possessive. His look was rapt.
Dorcas jerked her leg back and pulled up at the waist of her skirt to loose the material of his grip. "F--fuck off!" she stammered. She put a hand on Chrishton's shoulder and squeezed in appeal to his alliance against this perceived violation. She didn't even notice he was still injured.