Losing Grip
Title: Losing Grip
Character(s)/Pairing: Mark, Alex, Mark/Alex
Rating: R
Word Count: 883
Status: Complete
Notes/Warnings: Written in response to waltzmatildah's prompt (Mark/Alex, bullet holes) on the Grey's Kink Meme. This feels weird. I haven't written for Grey's in almost two years and haven't actively watched since shortly after the shooting.
Summary: They can clean up the blood and bury the dead, but sometimes the people left behind are simply too broken to stand on their own. In the aftermath of the shooting, Mark and Alex are just trying to hold on.
There were nights where Mark woke up in a cold sweat, heart hammering in his chest and convinced that Alex had died, that he’d bled out on that conference room table. Convinced that Alex was dead and that it was all his fault.
By the time his brain would catch up with reality, his hands would be red and burning from how long he’d held them under the hot water, trying to get the phantom blood off his hands.
---
Alex barely slept anymore. How was he supposed to when he had gun shots echoing in his head and the memory of Reed’s dead eyes staring at him like they were asking why it had to be her?
He still didn’t understand why it hadn’t been him that died in that hallway. She’d had family that loved her, he was sure. Him… He had one family member left that wasn’t completely out of their head and she had every reason to hate him for leaving her behind when he saved himself.
He wondered if he should have died that day rather than live this half-life he was living now. Scared of elevators and too scared to let himself sleep for more than an hour at a time.
He knew he was wasting away as he stopped caring about basic necessities. There was no ignoring the way his pants hung lower on his hips or the way his ribs were starting to protrude one by one.
He did try, though.
---
They both watched as Lexie moved out of their reach. Alex pushed her away and Mark just didn’t fight hard enough. They watched her move on and recover while they didn’t.
Izzie never came back, no matter how many voicemails Meredith had left while they had Alex in an induced coma.
No one had really expected her to.
They were both broken. Maybe too much to fix.
So they fucked. They fucked like maybe this could fix them, because Gary Clark’s gun may have only put one real bullet into Alex, but it felt like they’d both been shot full of holes.
It didn’t feel so bad when they were fucking. Tried to pretend like this wasn’t them holding onto their last bit of sanity as teeth bit too hard and hands gripped tight enough to bruise.
Alex grunted against the kiss, pushing back as fingers stretched him and his own nails dug into Mark’s shoulders so deep that he was sure they broke skin. Then, he was on his knees, hands fisting the blankets as Mark slid inside and they moved.
There weren’t any whispers of I love you or anything of the sort. It was just them. Grunts and moans that echoed off the walls of Mark’s bedroom.
Mark’s hand brushed over Alex’s scar once and they both tensed, jaws set and eyes scared because, Jesus fucking Christ, they didn’t want to think about that now. They were trying to forget.
His hand shook as he reached around to Alex’s front and tried to forget, cock in hand as he jerked Alex off with each thrust.
They both came with no more than a grunt, but Mark wondered for a second if Alex had actually moaned something into the pillow. Didn’t let himself think about it, because thinking about it meant defining and confronting what they’d been doing for months.
Wiped his hands as he dropped down beside Alex and barely blinked as Alex’s back ended up pressed against Mark’s chest.
His hand moved on its own accord as it bounced down the bumps of Alex’s ribs. Alex shuddered against him and forced Mark’s hand down to rest on his hip.
Shook his head once and Mark didn’t fight it. Alex didn’t want to talk about it and neither did he.
He could feel the tremor under his hand as Alex fell asleep. Knew even as he closed his own eyes that Alex would be gone when he woke up. He’d wake up, shaking and scared from whatever nightmare was happening in his head and Mark wouldn’t fight him when he’d slide out of bed and out of the apartment. He never did. It was easier to let Alex run away just like Alex would let him.
This wasn’t the last time they’d do this. They’d go back to their lives and pretend they were okay until that weight pushing down on their chest was too much. Then, they’d end up right back where they always did these days. Maybe not in the same location, but hiding in each other, because… What else did they have anymore?
Alex had told him that day to eat more bacon and have more sex. He doubted Alex had meant sex with him, but bacon still made him sick more often than it didn’t. They were supposed to be living better than they had before the damn shooting, but it felt like they were worse-off now. They were both barely getting by these days. The only time they even felt alive was when they were together and trying to patch up the metaphoric holes since Alex’s real one was already long-past healed.
They fucked like they were dying.
Wondered if maybe they had the day Gary Clark came and ripped their world apart.
The End
Character(s)/Pairing: Mark, Alex, Mark/Alex
Rating: R
Word Count: 883
Status: Complete
Notes/Warnings: Written in response to waltzmatildah's prompt (Mark/Alex, bullet holes) on the Grey's Kink Meme. This feels weird. I haven't written for Grey's in almost two years and haven't actively watched since shortly after the shooting.
Summary: They can clean up the blood and bury the dead, but sometimes the people left behind are simply too broken to stand on their own. In the aftermath of the shooting, Mark and Alex are just trying to hold on.
There were nights where Mark woke up in a cold sweat, heart hammering in his chest and convinced that Alex had died, that he’d bled out on that conference room table. Convinced that Alex was dead and that it was all his fault.
By the time his brain would catch up with reality, his hands would be red and burning from how long he’d held them under the hot water, trying to get the phantom blood off his hands.
---
Alex barely slept anymore. How was he supposed to when he had gun shots echoing in his head and the memory of Reed’s dead eyes staring at him like they were asking why it had to be her?
He still didn’t understand why it hadn’t been him that died in that hallway. She’d had family that loved her, he was sure. Him… He had one family member left that wasn’t completely out of their head and she had every reason to hate him for leaving her behind when he saved himself.
He wondered if he should have died that day rather than live this half-life he was living now. Scared of elevators and too scared to let himself sleep for more than an hour at a time.
He knew he was wasting away as he stopped caring about basic necessities. There was no ignoring the way his pants hung lower on his hips or the way his ribs were starting to protrude one by one.
He did try, though.
---
They both watched as Lexie moved out of their reach. Alex pushed her away and Mark just didn’t fight hard enough. They watched her move on and recover while they didn’t.
Izzie never came back, no matter how many voicemails Meredith had left while they had Alex in an induced coma.
No one had really expected her to.
They were both broken. Maybe too much to fix.
So they fucked. They fucked like maybe this could fix them, because Gary Clark’s gun may have only put one real bullet into Alex, but it felt like they’d both been shot full of holes.
It didn’t feel so bad when they were fucking. Tried to pretend like this wasn’t them holding onto their last bit of sanity as teeth bit too hard and hands gripped tight enough to bruise.
Alex grunted against the kiss, pushing back as fingers stretched him and his own nails dug into Mark’s shoulders so deep that he was sure they broke skin. Then, he was on his knees, hands fisting the blankets as Mark slid inside and they moved.
There weren’t any whispers of I love you or anything of the sort. It was just them. Grunts and moans that echoed off the walls of Mark’s bedroom.
Mark’s hand brushed over Alex’s scar once and they both tensed, jaws set and eyes scared because, Jesus fucking Christ, they didn’t want to think about that now. They were trying to forget.
His hand shook as he reached around to Alex’s front and tried to forget, cock in hand as he jerked Alex off with each thrust.
They both came with no more than a grunt, but Mark wondered for a second if Alex had actually moaned something into the pillow. Didn’t let himself think about it, because thinking about it meant defining and confronting what they’d been doing for months.
Wiped his hands as he dropped down beside Alex and barely blinked as Alex’s back ended up pressed against Mark’s chest.
His hand moved on its own accord as it bounced down the bumps of Alex’s ribs. Alex shuddered against him and forced Mark’s hand down to rest on his hip.
Shook his head once and Mark didn’t fight it. Alex didn’t want to talk about it and neither did he.
He could feel the tremor under his hand as Alex fell asleep. Knew even as he closed his own eyes that Alex would be gone when he woke up. He’d wake up, shaking and scared from whatever nightmare was happening in his head and Mark wouldn’t fight him when he’d slide out of bed and out of the apartment. He never did. It was easier to let Alex run away just like Alex would let him.
This wasn’t the last time they’d do this. They’d go back to their lives and pretend they were okay until that weight pushing down on their chest was too much. Then, they’d end up right back where they always did these days. Maybe not in the same location, but hiding in each other, because… What else did they have anymore?
Alex had told him that day to eat more bacon and have more sex. He doubted Alex had meant sex with him, but bacon still made him sick more often than it didn’t. They were supposed to be living better than they had before the damn shooting, but it felt like they were worse-off now. They were both barely getting by these days. The only time they even felt alive was when they were together and trying to patch up the metaphoric holes since Alex’s real one was already long-past healed.
They fucked like they were dying.
Wondered if maybe they had the day Gary Clark came and ripped their world apart.
The End