Marc can’t say Solomons is wrong, that he didn’t go in stupidly, blindly, in a way that makes him wonder what he mistook about the job. Was it that he blacked out and missed some key intelligence when Steven had the body? No, that’s impossible. If Steven knew that women and children were among the targets he would have heard it loud and clear at least a dozen times over. It doesn’t really surprise him that Solomons pinpoints that as the true reason Marc didn’t finish it, though it makes him wonder why Solomons thought he was the man for the job in the first place.
Regardless, Marc should have anticipated what the camp would be like, who he would find there. His world has been black and white for too long. Those who walk in the day, those who go undefended through the night, and the creatures that prey on them. Whatever else you could say about Khonshu, he’s never asked Marc to kill children.
He stands bleak and immovable in refusal, not even sure that he would give Solomons a contact after all, at least not without warning them what they were getting into. Marc is willing to be berated however long the man wants but when Solomons seizes him with a hand in his collar he reacts without thinking, grabbing his wrist and making to wrench it aside before the sudden sensation—the full-body, breathtaking jolt of awareness—slams into him and makes him stagger.
Marc knows it too, and so does Steven, blanching within him as the mark on the back of their neck flares to life. He feels suddenly as though Solomons is holding him up, as though Marc needs the grasp on his wrist to keep himself on his feet, staring into the other man’s eyes with his own gaze wide and dismayed. He’s never wanted a soulmate, fuck, he has a wife for God’s sake and that’s a mess enough as it is, but he’s never been able to bring himself to disbelieve the stories either. Not him, something within him thinks, and he’s not sure if it’s his own thought or Steven’s, but he’s in agreement with it. He doesn’t need this. Marc’s got enough voices clamoring in his head, enough claims and debts. His hand loosens and falls away from Solomons’ wrist when the man lets go of his collar, and Marc stands still for a moment as Solomons studies him, smoothing his shirt.
“Me neither.” It’s all he can think to say, and Marc turns, moving a couple of steps away and raising a hand instinctively to the back of his neck. He hates that that’s where the mark is, how discomforting and vulnerable it feels. He wonders what Khonshu will say. The thought of his god calms him a little. He and Steven already belong to someone, there isn’t room for anyone else in their weird little affair, and for once the thought is a reassurance.
“Look. This isn’t gonna work out for either of us, I can tell you that right now. It’ll be better if we forget about it.”
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2022-05-07 11:26 am (UTC)Regardless, Marc should have anticipated what the camp would be like, who he would find there. His world has been black and white for too long. Those who walk in the day, those who go undefended through the night, and the creatures that prey on them. Whatever else you could say about Khonshu, he’s never asked Marc to kill children.
He stands bleak and immovable in refusal, not even sure that he would give Solomons a contact after all, at least not without warning them what they were getting into. Marc is willing to be berated however long the man wants but when Solomons seizes him with a hand in his collar he reacts without thinking, grabbing his wrist and making to wrench it aside before the sudden sensation—the full-body, breathtaking jolt of awareness—slams into him and makes him stagger.
Marc knows it too, and so does Steven, blanching within him as the mark on the back of their neck flares to life. He feels suddenly as though Solomons is holding him up, as though Marc needs the grasp on his wrist to keep himself on his feet, staring into the other man’s eyes with his own gaze wide and dismayed. He’s never wanted a soulmate, fuck, he has a wife for God’s sake and that’s a mess enough as it is, but he’s never been able to bring himself to disbelieve the stories either. Not him, something within him thinks, and he’s not sure if it’s his own thought or Steven’s, but he’s in agreement with it. He doesn’t need this. Marc’s got enough voices clamoring in his head, enough claims and debts. His hand loosens and falls away from Solomons’ wrist when the man lets go of his collar, and Marc stands still for a moment as Solomons studies him, smoothing his shirt.
“Me neither.” It’s all he can think to say, and Marc turns, moving a couple of steps away and raising a hand instinctively to the back of his neck. He hates that that’s where the mark is, how discomforting and vulnerable it feels. He wonders what Khonshu will say. The thought of his god calms him a little. He and Steven already belong to someone, there isn’t room for anyone else in their weird little affair, and for once the thought is a reassurance.
“Look. This isn’t gonna work out for either of us, I can tell you that right now. It’ll be better if we forget about it.”