210
and we can let our heartbeats go
the eagle (esca/marcus)
1,543 words. rated r. some sex and also violence. in which esca and marcus kill evil creatures together, a la supernatural. yes, another au. apparently I just can't help myself! written for the ninth_eagle fanmedia challege, using the picture of the bird. this challenge has been such a blast, thanks so much to riventhorn for running it! ♥
“Fuck - ow, Esca, Jesus -” Marcus cuts himself off with a hiss, and Esca pushes his mouth into a thin line, liberally pouring peroxide over the new claw marks scouring the freckled flesh of Marcus’s shoulder. He’s still bleeding, but it’s not life threatening.
“Next time, you fucking call me, you wanker,” Esca says. His voice is even, and calm, but Esca isn’t. His anger bubbles up underneath his skin, and it’s all he can do to hold onto it with his fingernails. Some people are idiotic arseholes, and then there’s Marcus.
“There wasn’t time -” Marcus starts, and then cuts himself off with a hiss as Esca applies pressure. He’s not gentle, even though some part of him wants to be.
“And which one of us is immortal, Marcus, yeah? Or near enough to not matter. One of us is the fucking chosen one with the scarred up leg, and one of us is a peon from hell. Don’t tell me I have to explain it to you all over again.”
“Jesus fuck, anything but that,” Marcus says under his breath, but he knows that Esca is right. Esca can tell by the way that Marcus isn’t protesting, not really. The tub is streaked with blood and dirt and boot prints. Marcus is sitting on the lip, massaging his scarred leg with one hand, and Esca is crowded in behind him, and it’s not comfortable because Esca keeps forgetting how warm humans can be. Marcus’s blood smells good, like copper and salt and just the faintest hint of demon.
Esca wants to bite into the side of Marcus’s neck and just hold on until Marcus whimpers and yields. He hasn’t done it before, but it’s so close he can taste it.
“Hand me the bandages,” he says, instead, and listens to Marcus’s heart beating.
There is corn, and wheat, and, eventually, green beans. Miles and miles of highway lined with miles and miles of farmland. Esca naps in the passenger seat of Marcus’s car and does his best to ignore Marcus’s terrible taste in music. He’s had time to get used to it.
Marcus is singing Highway to Hell underneath his breath, and Esca thinks about telling him how much he doesn’t ever, ever want to go there, but he decides against it. They’re heading for Idaho and new poltergeist activity. Marcus doesn’t really need to hear about his own mortality. With Cottia and his father both dead, he doesn’t usually need to be reminded, anyway.
“You have terrible taste in music,” Esca says, turning half-lidded eyes toward Marcus’s profile. He can see Marcus’s forearm, his hand curled around the steering wheel, the other tapping out a rhythm on his thigh. The driving doesn’t make his leg tired, and so he rarely lets anyone else behind the wheel. He snorts at Esca’s words, and reaches over to turn the music up. Esca just closes his eyes again, and pretends to sleep until he believes it.
Hollow bones like bird wings crunch underneath Esca’s boots, and he wipes his blood-smeared hands on the back of his jeans. Whatever these things are, there are way, way too many of them.
“Where the fuck are you, Marcus,” Esca grinds out under his breath. His teeth are clenched hard enough to make his jaw hurt.
The basement is dark, and it smells like hay and rot and mildew, dust and abandonment. The house itself isn’t as large as the basement, the expanse of it spreading out below the ground like ant tunnels. The crumbling walls lead to dirt-packed passages, claw marks clear in the sides where the creatures have scoured their way through the soft earth.
Esca lost Marcus twenty minutes ago, and he’s not afraid, he’s not, really, but he is angry and tired of killing sharp, brittle monsters with sharp, brittle teeth.
“Marcus, if you’re getting yourself killed again, I’m going to dig out your heart while it’s still beating and eat it.”
He means it, is the thing. But Marcus won’t know, since he’s not here to hear it, and Esca won’t tell him.
“You could get up if you wanted,” Esca hisses against the back of Marcus’s neck. Marcus is heaving huge breathes and Esca can feel the expand and contract of them against his chest.
“But you’re - Esca you’re a demon and -” Marcus cuts himself off to gasp. Esca is pushing him down onto the mattress. Esca’s fingertips are digging into Marcus’s shoulder and back and biceps. He’s pressing his hips up against Marcus’s ass. He likes the way that Marcus writhes beneath him.
“I’m a demon, yeah, but you’re the chosen one, Marcus. You have the power. Do you want to use it?”
Marcus makes a strangled noise and pushes back into Esca’s weight. He’s still not trying, not to get Esca off him, anyway, and Esca can’t say that he cares. He’s leaning over Marcus, taking in the bare skin of his long, broad back. The smattering of freckles across his shoulder blades.
Marcus wants it, is the thing. Esca can tell, from the cant of his hips to the shuddering intake of his breath. And Esca will give it to him, no problem, but Marcus has to admit he wants it first.
“C’mon, Marcus. Aren’t you even going to try?”
“Fuck you,” Marcus spits, but his voice has a waver to it that belies the ferocity of the words.
“Not really what you want, I think.” Esca draws his nails over the back of Marcus’s neck, just a shade too hard. He watches the white pressure marks give way to faintly pink irritation. Marcus’s moan sounds like it’s been shocked out of him, like a punch to the gut.
“I’m not -” Marcus starts, but Esca leans in to bite the back of his neck, just beneath his hairline. His skin is slightly tacky with sweat, and his hair smells a little dirty, and he’s so human, so fragile. Esca could rip him apart with one hand, except for how he wouldn’t. And how, if Marcus would actually learn to use his powers, Marcus could stop him flat with only his mind. He sinks his teeth in deep, sucking at the flesh against his mouth. He wants to leave a mark. He wants to draw blood. Marcus shudders beneath him, and then goes still.
“Please,” Marcus says, and all of the resistance has drained from his voice, leaving it colorless, flat. He presses his neck back against Esca’s sharp teeth.
“Please what, Marcus? You can ask me nicely.” Esca only pulls away enough to speak, lips still brushing the mark he’s left, vivid and red, on Marcus’s neck.
“Fuck me,” Marcus says, “C’mon, I want it, please. Please.”
“Your wish is my command,” Esca says, and kisses the red, bruising skin.
After they destroy the hive, all seven shifters dead, Esca fucks Marcus on the floor of someone else’s living room, someone dead, the bodies of the shifters piled up in the entranceway. They’ll salt and burn them later, just to be safe, but Esca has other things in mind right now. There’s blood soaked into the sofa cushions, sprayed across the coffee table, and droplets splattered onto the carpet beneath Marcus’s knees. Marcus moans, loud in the quiet house, and Esca pushes into him, hard and fast and brutal, urgency burning beneath his skin.
“You’re learning,” he says, with his mouth pressed tight against Marcus’s neck. “You’re going to be spectacular.”
“Shut up and fuck me,” Marcus growls out, between clenched teeth, and Esca laughs, hands tight around Marcus’s hips, and does what he’s told.
Once the gate is closed, Esca collapses on the ground, hands pressed to the gouges clawed across his stomach and chest. They’re still bleeding, the repercussion of fighting demons, and he can feel the blood oozing between his fingers. Marcus is still standing, facing the closed door, wiping the back of his hand across his face. He has done it, finally. He’s retrieved the Eagle from the gates of hell. Esca doesn’t have the strength to look for very long, to revel in the triumph, and so he lays back, the cold and wet of the dirt seeping through his t-shirt.
He drifts away for some uncertain period of time, staring up into the night sky, and then Marcus’s hands are on the sides of his face.
“Esca.” Marcus’s voice is an urgent whisper. “Esca, wake up.”
“Mmm,” Esca says, and opens his eyes. “Yeah?”
“I thought -” Marcus starts, and then shakes his head. “Are you going to be okay?”
“’ll be fine,” Esca slurs out, and tries on a smile. Marcus’s brows are knit together with worry that Esca certainly doesn’t deserve, not with some of the things he’s done. But he doesn’t want Marcus to stop, either. “Don’ worry.”
“I’m not,” Marcus says, and then belies that statement by continuing to speak. “We’ve got to get you to a hospital.”
“Won’t matter. ‘m gonna be fine, yeah, just help me to the car.”
“I - yeah, sure,” Marcus says, and kisses Esca on the forehead, and on the cheek, and on the mouth. Esca opens his mouth for Marcus’s tongue, and lets Marcus kiss him, and closes his eyes.
the eagle (esca/marcus)
1,543 words. rated r. some sex and also violence. in which esca and marcus kill evil creatures together, a la supernatural. yes, another au. apparently I just can't help myself! written for the ninth_eagle fanmedia challege, using the picture of the bird. this challenge has been such a blast, thanks so much to riventhorn for running it! ♥
“Fuck - ow, Esca, Jesus -” Marcus cuts himself off with a hiss, and Esca pushes his mouth into a thin line, liberally pouring peroxide over the new claw marks scouring the freckled flesh of Marcus’s shoulder. He’s still bleeding, but it’s not life threatening.
“Next time, you fucking call me, you wanker,” Esca says. His voice is even, and calm, but Esca isn’t. His anger bubbles up underneath his skin, and it’s all he can do to hold onto it with his fingernails. Some people are idiotic arseholes, and then there’s Marcus.
“There wasn’t time -” Marcus starts, and then cuts himself off with a hiss as Esca applies pressure. He’s not gentle, even though some part of him wants to be.
“And which one of us is immortal, Marcus, yeah? Or near enough to not matter. One of us is the fucking chosen one with the scarred up leg, and one of us is a peon from hell. Don’t tell me I have to explain it to you all over again.”
“Jesus fuck, anything but that,” Marcus says under his breath, but he knows that Esca is right. Esca can tell by the way that Marcus isn’t protesting, not really. The tub is streaked with blood and dirt and boot prints. Marcus is sitting on the lip, massaging his scarred leg with one hand, and Esca is crowded in behind him, and it’s not comfortable because Esca keeps forgetting how warm humans can be. Marcus’s blood smells good, like copper and salt and just the faintest hint of demon.
Esca wants to bite into the side of Marcus’s neck and just hold on until Marcus whimpers and yields. He hasn’t done it before, but it’s so close he can taste it.
“Hand me the bandages,” he says, instead, and listens to Marcus’s heart beating.
There is corn, and wheat, and, eventually, green beans. Miles and miles of highway lined with miles and miles of farmland. Esca naps in the passenger seat of Marcus’s car and does his best to ignore Marcus’s terrible taste in music. He’s had time to get used to it.
Marcus is singing Highway to Hell underneath his breath, and Esca thinks about telling him how much he doesn’t ever, ever want to go there, but he decides against it. They’re heading for Idaho and new poltergeist activity. Marcus doesn’t really need to hear about his own mortality. With Cottia and his father both dead, he doesn’t usually need to be reminded, anyway.
“You have terrible taste in music,” Esca says, turning half-lidded eyes toward Marcus’s profile. He can see Marcus’s forearm, his hand curled around the steering wheel, the other tapping out a rhythm on his thigh. The driving doesn’t make his leg tired, and so he rarely lets anyone else behind the wheel. He snorts at Esca’s words, and reaches over to turn the music up. Esca just closes his eyes again, and pretends to sleep until he believes it.
Hollow bones like bird wings crunch underneath Esca’s boots, and he wipes his blood-smeared hands on the back of his jeans. Whatever these things are, there are way, way too many of them.
“Where the fuck are you, Marcus,” Esca grinds out under his breath. His teeth are clenched hard enough to make his jaw hurt.
The basement is dark, and it smells like hay and rot and mildew, dust and abandonment. The house itself isn’t as large as the basement, the expanse of it spreading out below the ground like ant tunnels. The crumbling walls lead to dirt-packed passages, claw marks clear in the sides where the creatures have scoured their way through the soft earth.
Esca lost Marcus twenty minutes ago, and he’s not afraid, he’s not, really, but he is angry and tired of killing sharp, brittle monsters with sharp, brittle teeth.
“Marcus, if you’re getting yourself killed again, I’m going to dig out your heart while it’s still beating and eat it.”
He means it, is the thing. But Marcus won’t know, since he’s not here to hear it, and Esca won’t tell him.
“You could get up if you wanted,” Esca hisses against the back of Marcus’s neck. Marcus is heaving huge breathes and Esca can feel the expand and contract of them against his chest.
“But you’re - Esca you’re a demon and -” Marcus cuts himself off to gasp. Esca is pushing him down onto the mattress. Esca’s fingertips are digging into Marcus’s shoulder and back and biceps. He’s pressing his hips up against Marcus’s ass. He likes the way that Marcus writhes beneath him.
“I’m a demon, yeah, but you’re the chosen one, Marcus. You have the power. Do you want to use it?”
Marcus makes a strangled noise and pushes back into Esca’s weight. He’s still not trying, not to get Esca off him, anyway, and Esca can’t say that he cares. He’s leaning over Marcus, taking in the bare skin of his long, broad back. The smattering of freckles across his shoulder blades.
Marcus wants it, is the thing. Esca can tell, from the cant of his hips to the shuddering intake of his breath. And Esca will give it to him, no problem, but Marcus has to admit he wants it first.
“C’mon, Marcus. Aren’t you even going to try?”
“Fuck you,” Marcus spits, but his voice has a waver to it that belies the ferocity of the words.
“Not really what you want, I think.” Esca draws his nails over the back of Marcus’s neck, just a shade too hard. He watches the white pressure marks give way to faintly pink irritation. Marcus’s moan sounds like it’s been shocked out of him, like a punch to the gut.
“I’m not -” Marcus starts, but Esca leans in to bite the back of his neck, just beneath his hairline. His skin is slightly tacky with sweat, and his hair smells a little dirty, and he’s so human, so fragile. Esca could rip him apart with one hand, except for how he wouldn’t. And how, if Marcus would actually learn to use his powers, Marcus could stop him flat with only his mind. He sinks his teeth in deep, sucking at the flesh against his mouth. He wants to leave a mark. He wants to draw blood. Marcus shudders beneath him, and then goes still.
“Please,” Marcus says, and all of the resistance has drained from his voice, leaving it colorless, flat. He presses his neck back against Esca’s sharp teeth.
“Please what, Marcus? You can ask me nicely.” Esca only pulls away enough to speak, lips still brushing the mark he’s left, vivid and red, on Marcus’s neck.
“Fuck me,” Marcus says, “C’mon, I want it, please. Please.”
“Your wish is my command,” Esca says, and kisses the red, bruising skin.
After they destroy the hive, all seven shifters dead, Esca fucks Marcus on the floor of someone else’s living room, someone dead, the bodies of the shifters piled up in the entranceway. They’ll salt and burn them later, just to be safe, but Esca has other things in mind right now. There’s blood soaked into the sofa cushions, sprayed across the coffee table, and droplets splattered onto the carpet beneath Marcus’s knees. Marcus moans, loud in the quiet house, and Esca pushes into him, hard and fast and brutal, urgency burning beneath his skin.
“You’re learning,” he says, with his mouth pressed tight against Marcus’s neck. “You’re going to be spectacular.”
“Shut up and fuck me,” Marcus growls out, between clenched teeth, and Esca laughs, hands tight around Marcus’s hips, and does what he’s told.
Once the gate is closed, Esca collapses on the ground, hands pressed to the gouges clawed across his stomach and chest. They’re still bleeding, the repercussion of fighting demons, and he can feel the blood oozing between his fingers. Marcus is still standing, facing the closed door, wiping the back of his hand across his face. He has done it, finally. He’s retrieved the Eagle from the gates of hell. Esca doesn’t have the strength to look for very long, to revel in the triumph, and so he lays back, the cold and wet of the dirt seeping through his t-shirt.
He drifts away for some uncertain period of time, staring up into the night sky, and then Marcus’s hands are on the sides of his face.
“Esca.” Marcus’s voice is an urgent whisper. “Esca, wake up.”
“Mmm,” Esca says, and opens his eyes. “Yeah?”
“I thought -” Marcus starts, and then shakes his head. “Are you going to be okay?”
“’ll be fine,” Esca slurs out, and tries on a smile. Marcus’s brows are knit together with worry that Esca certainly doesn’t deserve, not with some of the things he’s done. But he doesn’t want Marcus to stop, either. “Don’ worry.”
“I’m not,” Marcus says, and then belies that statement by continuing to speak. “We’ve got to get you to a hospital.”
“Won’t matter. ‘m gonna be fine, yeah, just help me to the car.”
“I - yeah, sure,” Marcus says, and kisses Esca on the forehead, and on the cheek, and on the mouth. Esca opens his mouth for Marcus’s tongue, and lets Marcus kiss him, and closes his eyes.