exorkismos | open / heaven created a miracle

With one hand, Marcus pulls down the brim of his hat; with the other he holds his side like he has a stitch. He’s not limping, exactly, but there’s a definite arrythmic stutter to his gait. It doesn’t slow him down. He curls his lip, tucks his chin into his chest, and keeps on going. Until, paused on a corner, he makes the mistake of looking. His black shirt hides the stain but when he peels his hand away it’s red.

It’s not the blood that makes his head swim; he’s familiar enough with that. It’s the sudden incontrovertible proof that he should be in serious pain. He sees it and then all the adrenalin abandons him and he is. It’s a nasty, gnawing, spreading pain, makes him weak at the knees and tight in the chest. “Oh, come on,” he pants, teeth gritted as he sags back.

“Nice digs,” Marcus says. He’s looking at the person who’s just walked in, but he’s holding one of their books. It’s open. His fingernails are grimy and he’s leaving faint graphite smudges on the pages. “Bad lock.” He smiles all crooked and disarming and a little bit knowing; other than that slight challenge on his face, he seems fairly set on acting like he hasn’t just been caught breaking and entering. He snaps the book closed and waves it. “Great reading. Need to have a chat, you and me.”

Will teaches. That makes — some sense? Marcus can imagine him lecturing, definitely. Pastoral support, maybe less so. Mind you, most of his mental image of Will involves him shivering and wrapped in a borrowed duvet. Marcus is really fairly pleased that he has a life outside of looking at crime scenes and turning up blue with cold on strangers' doorsteps.

He prowls around the desk, noses through files. None of them are pleasant to look at. One in particular makes him wince and put the file away. It's harder, much harder, to look at what humans do to each other than to see the carnage a demon can leave. He can do something about the latter. The former — that makes him feel helpless.

He's in Will's chair when Will comes in, face hidden behind the file on this case — the one Marcus has decided to be involved in. The one God has decided to get Marcus involved in. Same difference. "So," he says. "You've got a suspect. Laura Ventrelli, 54, disappeared along with her five dogs three weeks ago. Says here that fur found at her house matches fur at the scene." He drops the file. "That's weird, though, innit? Three weeks, just gone, dogs and all?"

[previously, on hannibal]

it's fine. eye & morals, both fine. honestly I don't remember much of what I said but I know I was pressing your buttons. not accidentally either. so

probably deserved

i have good news and bad news

[It's been a few weeks. Marcus gets busy sometimes, and Midnighter knows he needs a break. People need breaks. You can't just stick your nose in their business all the time and expect good to come of it. And they both have very active professional lives, so Midnighter waits.]

[He can be patient.]

[He can be patient to a point. After a month and a little bit (during which he communicates a little, but it's rarely meaningful), he sends a picture.]

[It's... a selfie, in a sense. It's certainly Midnighter's naked torso, and a little of his face, just enough to catch a sharp, confident grin. The picture starts there, and ends on Midnighter's free hand (his occupied hand is obviously taking the picture while he lays back in bed) wrapped around his cock, hard and flushed and leaking precum over his stomach.]

[Distantly before he sends it, he hopes Marcus doesn't get it at an awkward moment. Eh, no victory for the cautious, or... however that saying goes.]

thinking of u

As advertised, three days later, Midnighter sends another photo. He knows they left things on bad terms last time, he knows it's mostly his fault, but he doesn't really know how to apologize. He just knows he misses Marcus like a palpable ache, and he wants to reach out to him somehow. And they agreed on this. It's got to be okay, right?

So Midnighter sends another picture. It's more focused on his dick this time, because that's the major organ he's thinking with at the moment. Flushed and hard, it's ignored in favor of his hand sliding back behind his thighs, hidden at the angle he's taken the photo. Essentially, it's clear he's fingering himself.

He's a fucking artist, thanks.

wish u were here

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tfln overspill / will graham

hi i missed them.