The way he flinches from Solomons’ hand clamping on the back of his neck is too obvious. His reactions are out of his control, the awareness of the soul-bond assailing him still, like a current that’s torn him from shore and is dragging him under. “Take your hand off of me,” Marc says in a voice tightly leashed, thinking that if another moment passes with the man gripping him tightly over the searing mark and shaking him like a disobedient dog Marc will strike him. He doesn’t, though. Adrenaline rushes through him with nowhere to go, the word mine echoing in his head like a struck bell. Stop interfering, Steven. If you’re doing this, I swear to God—
It isn’t me, Steven insists, and there is something spiraling and frightened in the way he senses his other self, a discord adding to the chaos in Marc’s body and mind. He feels hot and strange, watching Solomons take a goddamned ring off of his finger and put it on his own, with an all-too-familiar feeling of being outside of his body. Except Marc is the one in control right now—isn’t he?
The symbolism of the ring on his finger feels like the jaws of a trap snapping shut. But it’s the longer look Solomons gives him that makes a shudder crawl down Marc’s spine, cold first and then hot. His breathing takes on a ragged edge as Marc stares back at the man and realizes that he hasn’t moved since Solomons put his hand on him, that even with everything in him in recoiling from the idea of a bond like this—he and Steven entirely in agreement, for once—he hasn’t even tried to get out of Solomons’ hold. The condescension in the man’s voice is laid on thick and incredulity twists into Marc at the words, into a snarl of fury, humiliation and a sickening edge of arousal.
Marc. No.
Shut up, Steven.
No, you can’t.
“Shut up,” Marc says again, furiously, realizing a moment later that he’s said it out loud. Fuck, what is he doing? He draws in a breath, trying to steady himself. “I’m trying to tell you, I already belong to someone. It’s not a soulmate, but it doesn’t matter.” Marc thinks for a moment about obeying, baring himself, going to his knees. Feeling nothing other than what the man tells him to feel and his grasp on his neck.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2022-05-07 09:18 pm (UTC)It isn’t me, Steven insists, and there is something spiraling and frightened in the way he senses his other self, a discord adding to the chaos in Marc’s body and mind. He feels hot and strange, watching Solomons take a goddamned ring off of his finger and put it on his own, with an all-too-familiar feeling of being outside of his body. Except Marc is the one in control right now—isn’t he?
The symbolism of the ring on his finger feels like the jaws of a trap snapping shut. But it’s the longer look Solomons gives him that makes a shudder crawl down Marc’s spine, cold first and then hot. His breathing takes on a ragged edge as Marc stares back at the man and realizes that he hasn’t moved since Solomons put his hand on him, that even with everything in him in recoiling from the idea of a bond like this—he and Steven entirely in agreement, for once—he hasn’t even tried to get out of Solomons’ hold. The condescension in the man’s voice is laid on thick and incredulity twists into Marc at the words, into a snarl of fury, humiliation and a sickening edge of arousal.
Marc. No.
Shut up, Steven.
No, you can’t.
“Shut up,” Marc says again, furiously, realizing a moment later that he’s said it out loud. Fuck, what is he doing? He draws in a breath, trying to steady himself. “I’m trying to tell you, I already belong to someone. It’s not a soulmate, but it doesn’t matter.” Marc thinks for a moment about obeying, baring himself, going to his knees. Feeling nothing other than what the man tells him to feel and his grasp on his neck.