201
where the river forks
the eagle (esca/marcus)
540 words. for dreamofthem and heartequals, who asked me for kissing in the rain. so I wrote some. here you go, dudes. ♥
After the funerals, the deserters slink back into the woods like ghosts in the mist. They don’t say goodbye, but Marcus doesn’t expect them to. Esca watches them go with his mouth set firm and unyielding, one hand on his belt at the hip, where he’d keep his knife. He glances at Marcus, and lets his hand drop.
They spend the night on the bank of the river, twenty yards downstream from Guern’s body, and it rains. It’s always raining. There isn’t much shelter to be found, so they make the best of it, hanging fat-treated hides on the tree branches above them and huddling together in the furs. Marcus’ feet are damp and muddy, and when the wind changes the rain brushes against his face, but Esca is warm, and doesn’t seem to mind when Marcus presses closer. He huffs softly, like a mildly disturbed horse, his breath warm on Marcus’ neck.
Marcus listens to the rain, and the burbling of the river, but he is mostly paying attention to the way Esca’s knee is pressed against the inside of his leg, Esca’s fingers tapping a steady rhythm on Marcus’ ribs through his shirt, Esca’s chin tucked against his shoulder.
“What will you do now?” Marcus asks, half-fearing the answer, but Esca only shrugs. His fingers find the hem of Marcus’ shirt and steal underneath, fingernails scratching idly against his skin. Marcus shudders. He tries not to move, but his breath catches in his throat. Esca smiles.
“What would you have me do?” Esca asks, eventually, and doesn’t wait for an answer. He cranes his neck, the soft exhale of his breath catching on Marcus’ neck, where his pulse beats, and his jaw. When Esca pushes their mouths together, his lips taste like rainwater. Esca’s fingers slot into the space between Marcus’ ribs, and press. Marcus makes a soft noise, both tempered and urgent, and opens his mouth against Esca’s.
The rain drips from the trees, beating against the tarps over their heads, but Esca seems to pay no mind, not even when a change in the wind sends raindrops pelting against their cheeks, dampening their hair. Esca kisses with the single-minded intensity with which he does everything, and Marcus doesn’t know how to be the focus of that power. Esca bites into Marcus’ lower lip, hard and then soft and then soothes the hurt with his tongue. His knee is still pressing against the inside of Marcus’ thigh. He makes a satisfied noise in the back of his throat. He pulls away, and Marcus can only breathe, staring at Esca’s lips, wet with saliva and swollen from the force of their kissing.
“What would you have me do?” Esca asks again.
Marcus doesn’t have the words necessary to tell Esca what he wants. He never does. Marcus would have Esca by his side always. Marcus would let Esca do whatever he might want to.
“Kiss me again,” Marcus says, instead, and Esca laughs at him, a sharp, sudden noise, but he does. Esca’s fingertips press against the column of Marcus’ spine, and he leans in and slots their mouths together again. The raindrops hit the ground in a steady tattoo, like war drums, but Marcus isn’t listening anymore.
the eagle (esca/marcus)
540 words. for dreamofthem and heartequals, who asked me for kissing in the rain. so I wrote some. here you go, dudes. ♥
After the funerals, the deserters slink back into the woods like ghosts in the mist. They don’t say goodbye, but Marcus doesn’t expect them to. Esca watches them go with his mouth set firm and unyielding, one hand on his belt at the hip, where he’d keep his knife. He glances at Marcus, and lets his hand drop.
They spend the night on the bank of the river, twenty yards downstream from Guern’s body, and it rains. It’s always raining. There isn’t much shelter to be found, so they make the best of it, hanging fat-treated hides on the tree branches above them and huddling together in the furs. Marcus’ feet are damp and muddy, and when the wind changes the rain brushes against his face, but Esca is warm, and doesn’t seem to mind when Marcus presses closer. He huffs softly, like a mildly disturbed horse, his breath warm on Marcus’ neck.
Marcus listens to the rain, and the burbling of the river, but he is mostly paying attention to the way Esca’s knee is pressed against the inside of his leg, Esca’s fingers tapping a steady rhythm on Marcus’ ribs through his shirt, Esca’s chin tucked against his shoulder.
“What will you do now?” Marcus asks, half-fearing the answer, but Esca only shrugs. His fingers find the hem of Marcus’ shirt and steal underneath, fingernails scratching idly against his skin. Marcus shudders. He tries not to move, but his breath catches in his throat. Esca smiles.
“What would you have me do?” Esca asks, eventually, and doesn’t wait for an answer. He cranes his neck, the soft exhale of his breath catching on Marcus’ neck, where his pulse beats, and his jaw. When Esca pushes their mouths together, his lips taste like rainwater. Esca’s fingers slot into the space between Marcus’ ribs, and press. Marcus makes a soft noise, both tempered and urgent, and opens his mouth against Esca’s.
The rain drips from the trees, beating against the tarps over their heads, but Esca seems to pay no mind, not even when a change in the wind sends raindrops pelting against their cheeks, dampening their hair. Esca kisses with the single-minded intensity with which he does everything, and Marcus doesn’t know how to be the focus of that power. Esca bites into Marcus’ lower lip, hard and then soft and then soothes the hurt with his tongue. His knee is still pressing against the inside of Marcus’ thigh. He makes a satisfied noise in the back of his throat. He pulls away, and Marcus can only breathe, staring at Esca’s lips, wet with saliva and swollen from the force of their kissing.
“What would you have me do?” Esca asks again.
Marcus doesn’t have the words necessary to tell Esca what he wants. He never does. Marcus would have Esca by his side always. Marcus would let Esca do whatever he might want to.
“Kiss me again,” Marcus says, instead, and Esca laughs at him, a sharp, sudden noise, but he does. Esca’s fingertips press against the column of Marcus’ spine, and he leans in and slots their mouths together again. The raindrops hit the ground in a steady tattoo, like war drums, but Marcus isn’t listening anymore.