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“Yeah, that’s it. Get in there.” Marc arches his back, making it as easy for Steven as possible, and looks over his shoulder where Steven is fumbling his way in. He’s biting his lip and squinting a little as he pushes his finger into Marc.
It's just the two of them, without Khonshu and without Layla, farther apart than they've ever been and together. If Steven were a different kind of person, Marc would expect a you've missed having me in you, huh? from him. Taunting— or, well, this is Steven. He'd be playful, maybe overly pleased with his own joke.
“Like that?” Steven checks. His other hand is busy bruising Marc’s hip. Accidentally— Steven’s not fully aware of his strength, and Marc doesn’t think he’s trying to bruise him up. If he were, well, he wouldn’t necessarily mind. It’s grounding; Steven’s hands on him, Steven’s fingers in him, the scratchy sheets dragging against Marc’s knees as he splays his legs wider to make room for him.
“Yeah, or— more. Gimme— I can take more. Come on.”
“Because you’ve done this before?”
Steven adds another finger alongside the first and through the initial stretch his fingers make into Marc’s body — and when’s the last time he thought of it as his? Not the body, shared but not belonging to either of them. Nothing beyond an instrument — he can feel himself opening up and welcoming Steven inside. He’s always making room for Steven.
“Yeah,” he says, his breath damp against the mattress. “I like it.” A lifetime ago, when his body could be a conduit for pleasure and not just violence. Justice, he means.
“Huh, that’s— I haven’t.” He chuckles nervously. “Suppose you knew that.”
Marc shifts his hips back, chasing the twist of Steven’s wrist, the drag of his fingers. “You know what to do.” Maybe. For all that it was an annoyance and a liability, he does miss the certainty of having Steven inside himself. “It’s—” He grunts, and hears Steven make a smaller, quieter sound behind him. “You got it. It’s gonna be so good for you.”
Steven laughs again, brief and vaguely uncertain. “And you too. That’s the principle, innit?”
Even if it’s bad — and Marc’s not getting his hopes up — it’s another way to feel. This interlude, it’s not gonna last and he can still feel the way bullets penetrated the skin, muscles, bones, organs. Claiming everything in their path. Steven pushes deeper, and Marc sighs.
“That’s enough. I’m ready. You can—” It’s not like they jumped into this without sight or touch. The fuck me with a replica of my cock still doesn’t come out.
It’s a bigger, sweeter, longer stretch as Marc tilts his hips up, leans into his elbows, and pulls him deeper into himself. Steven’s careful pace stutters and he lets out a shocked, ragged sound as his hips thrust forward.
“Sorry, sorry,” he says. He’s panting, loudly, and it’s not the first time Marc’s had that effect on him— from fear, anger, exhaustion. It feels good to give him this. Taking and giving.
“Come on. You can—” He groans as Steven finally bottoms out. “You can really work me over.” He squeezes his eyes shut, relishing the feeling of being full full full. “Really give it to me.” His body can take so much, pain and death and rebirth and severance.
Steven folds himself along his back almost protectively, his skin sticky with sweat pressing them together and his heart beating right against Marc’s back. “Yeah?” he asks through his panting.
Marc crumples the sheets in his fists and gives himself over, surrendering his body to Steven. “Yeah,” he says. It rushes out of him in one long jubilant exhale. “Make me really feel it.”
Steven jerks his head, his forehead dragging against Marc’s spine. “Alright, alright.” The movement, like his voice, is jumpy and eager and full of bravado. “I can do that. Yeah, like— like you want it.” He pulls almost all the way out, leaving Marc open and spread on the head of his cock for an interminable moment of sweet, delirious denial before he drives himself back in.
The wounded, broken sound Marc lets out is pure instinct, an unfiltered reaction dragged out of him by Steven’s cock alone. “Fuck.”
Steven stills. “Was that not—?”
Marc fucks back into him. “Good, good. Keep going,” he breathes.
“Tell me if— what works, yeah?” He rocks hard into Marc’s body, the movement edging into pain before sharpening into pleasure. “How’s that?”
At this point, there’s not much his body could conceal from Steven. He’s open and letting himself be known inside out. He’s forgetting himself in the demands of his body; for this brief interlude, becoming all body, all flesh.
They get a rhythm going, Steven’s thrusts growing bolder with Marc’s encouragement, until Marc feels himself reaching a precipice, itching to fall over. His cock leaks and jumps in his palm as he fists it once, twice, trying to match the way Steven drives his cock in and out of his body.
“Let me help, let me help,” Steven says, and pulls until Marc’s clenching around him, his body spasming as he goes tight and loose. He sounds awed as he breathlessly says Marc’s name over and over again. Marc Marc Marc. The sounds fill him up, the pulse of Steven’s cock spurting inside him, following suit.
With Steven slumped against him, trembling, his body feels like an extension of Marc's still. Or again. They don't know how long this will last. How real it is. Steven brushes his lips and his warm breath over the top of Marc's spine as they begin to disentangle. His stomach lurches as Steven carefully pulls out, treating Marc's body with more care than anyone has in a long time. He's empty now. Empty without Steven. He shakes his head. He's fine. He's good. His wires are a little crossed, but what's new?
“Wow. That’s. Well. Wow.” Steven wheezes at the ceiling; his hair is sweaty and mussed, his lips parted, his chest rising quickly. If Marc reached out, maybe their heartbeats would be synchronized, thrumming as one.
“Yeah,” Marc says, in agreement, reassurance, or fucked out stupidity. Marc sinks into the mattress, feeling every sweet, tender ache spread throughout his body. He closes his eyes and lets himself be lulled by the unsteady rhythm of Steven’s breath.