Midnighter's breath is coming out quick and ragged as he works himself over. Curled in, whining and gasping as he fucks himself the way he imagines Marcus would. The way he wants him to. "Please," he doesn't like begging as a general rule, but this feels more like securing a promise. "Please, fuck, that's how I- hnn- how I like it, just like- like that-"

The SmartMark network was made to carry orders from generals to soldiers across galaxies. Instead, it carries the sound of Midnighter's incoherent climax straight to Marcus' ears. A moment later he'll get a picture of Midnighter lying back in bed, grinning and relaxed, one arm thrown up over his eyes, his own come shot up over his torso.

"Fuck, you're good to me..."