Fic: Let The Light In (The Eagle, AU), Chapter 10
Title: Let The Light In, Chapter 10
Pairing: Esca/Marcus
Rating: NC-17
Length: 5.4k
Warnings:
Summary: Marcus and Esca are acrobats performing in a Vegas circus spectacular, and Marcus is trying to figure out what's happening between them.
He thought it had gone well. Marcus knew his technique needed work and, despite waking with a nagging ache at the back of his neck, he was willing to put in the time necessary to do better. He'd liked it, which was a new thing to process. But overall, they'd both seemed get off on it and, if he was honest, Marcus had woken up expecting something in return. A bunch of snarky comments about how much he'd drooled, with a throwaway compliment afterward and then, ideally, Esca would decide to show Marcus how to do it correctly, because a morning beej from Esca usually set Marcus up for a morning of feeling goddamn awesome about everything.
The apartment was empty. Esca didn't reply to a text, which, according to Marcus's cell, remained unread an hour later. They'd usually hang out together in the mornings, taking it slow after a jerk off, then Marcus would go through his morning stretches while Esca showered, then he'd shower, and they'd watch TV and not talk much. They'd eat whatever leftover takeout was in the fridge, or sometimes they'd go grab breakfast somewhere to laugh at all the tourists looking shell-shocked and hungover. Instead he was stuck doing laundry and trying to figure out if dealing with the numerous piles of Esca's discarded socks and underwear was likely to get himself onto Esca's shit list.
“Hello?” Marcus grabbed his phone without looking at it, holding it between his shoulder and ear while he continued trying to pack three days of dishes into the dishwasher, Tetris-style. “Oh, hey, Mom. How's it - sure. I'm doing chores . . . I know, huh.”
He'd leave the rest of the kitchen till he was done talking, instead crossing the room to drop down onto the couch, lying flat with his head propped against the arm rest while his mother went into raptures over the article he'd emailed her. Third month into the new show, and their act was the new feature on the official website. They'd gotten fanmail. It blew his mind.
“Yeah. I liked that one.” A photo of Esca's imp, his feathered fingers curled around Marcus's chin as they stared up into each other's eyes. “I'll tell him you thought so. Tickets? I already said I'd get you tickets. No, I told you that. I did. Last month. It's, just, the show's, y'know . . . yeah, Mom, I get that you're aware of sex. No, I . . . we've had this conversation before. I know. Yeah. I'm glad you liked - Thanks. I'm proud of me, too.”
He picked at a hole in the couch's fabric. The apartment was plenty big enough compared with the ones he'd seen yesterday, but it was shabby, everything starting to fall apart, old rental furniture and all of Esca's personal stuff stacked in piles like he'd never totally moved in. If Marcus was renting it, he'd at least get a big beanbag chair or a recliner, and a big TV unit with an Xbox and sound bar. Some shelves around the place, maybe some prints on the walls. A plant or a fish or something.
“Gimme a few weeks. I'm looking for my own place, you could come stay once I got it comfortable. No motels, Mom. Bedbugs, that's why. No, it's real thing. Because I need my own place. So you can come visit, for one reason . . . I can't, there's no room here.”
It was like his mom thought he and Esca were roomies like out of a college movie frat house or something. There was no elegant way Marcus could think of to tell his mom anything close to the truth, whatever that was, without it being some big Lifetime moment.
“It's Esca's place. Yeah, I'm sure he'd be okay with it, but I don't - No, Mom, I don't want to ask. It's only one-bed, I told you. I'm on the couch.” Marcus's face burned. He closed his eyes, stretching his stiff neck backwards and rubbing over his forehead with his hand. He'd never been great at lying to anyone, but most of all his mom. “Give me a month to get a place and I'll fly you out. Your birthday, can you wait that long? I know this girl whose parents own this cool apartment with a view of the Strip, and I could . . . no, it's not like that. I'm not dating anyone. Because I've been busy with other stuff.”
Marcus sighed and let the phone drop away from his ear, his mom's voice reaching him anyhow. He silently counted to ten before he put it back in place.
“Nattie's good, we hung out yesterday. She was helping me check out a few . . . No, that's not going to happen . . . I know you do. I know. She's great, she's dating a guy from Anima. I will. No, I'll tell her, I swear. Hey, I should get going - my knee's doing okay, thanks.” He flexed it, feeling that slight click where his anterior cruciate was permanently overstretched, always a little too mobile. “It's holding up. I know, I will. You got the check, though, right? No, I want to. Mom . . . please, I feel better about it this way.”
His mom segued into a monologue about the local homeowners' association, how her allergies were acting up, and his sister's boss, and his uncle's problems with a wasp infestation. Marcus uh-huh'ed and expressed interest at appropriate intervals, a growing awareness of his mom's distance seeming like it stretched hundreds of miles and years away. If he hadn't met Esca, he'd be there now, back home in the kind of small town where ordering the salmon at Denny's had the whole place figuring you were some kind of health nut and thought yourself fancy.
“Yeah, me too, I should . . . Okay, I will. Love you, too. You, too. 'Bye.”
The sun was already too hot this close to the window, bouncing back off the paving outside, turning the apartment into a heat box even with the ceiling fan on full speed. Marcus carefully peeled back the tape where Esca had forbidden any changes to the thermostat, dropping the central air ten degrees and standing in front of the vent to cool himself off while he tried to work out the ache in his neck. Most of the building's residents had to be regular people as the place was dead during the day, unlike Nattie's complex where resort workers and performers from all the different shows around town were coming and going every hour of the day and night. He didn't notice how quiet it was around here when Esca was home. Marcus looked down at the phone in his hand, taking half a minute to decide to delete his second text of the morning to Esca before sending it.
-
They needed more laundry detergent. Marcus grabbed a carton of his usual brand and placed it in the cart, singing along under his breath with the song piping around the store, 'There were plants and birds and rocks and things . . .' It was one of his mom's old favorites, a song he'd grown up with. Weird he'd hear it today an hour after she'd called him.
Ziplock bags. He'd been lazy, getting into the same eating habits as Esca, grabbing whatever was at hand or closest to the counter at the gas station on the way into work, and would feel the energy sapping out of him halfway through the toughest balances. He'd already picked up a crate of coconut water. Next into the cart would be almonds, oatmeal flaxseed crackers and some ready-prepped veggies, maybe some chicken or something, before he tackled the puzzle over whether or not he should grab Esca some Froot Loops or Peanut Butter Crunch.
Esca inhaled sugary cereal like most people breathed air. A box would last three days, if that. He shouldn't encourage it, but Marcus found himself in the cereal aisle wincing at the nutritional content of Franken Berry and wondering if eating it with almond milk instead of the regular kind would make any difference, when a familiar scornful laugh caught his attention. Looking each way up and down the aisle, he caught sight of one skinny leg disappearing from sight, one of Esca's favorite falling-apart sneakers on the end of it.
The urgency of his physical reaction jolted him, Marcus's heart picking up speed and his cock pulsing with a sudden rush of blood. He saw one sneaker and was popping a chub? Dammit. Marcus threw the Franken Berry into the cart, annoyed with himself at how juvenile it was, then started pushing his cart off towards where he'd seen Esca's foot, walking faster than he should. He could've avoided this whole issue if he'd stuck with Trader Joe's or Whole Foods. Instinct drew him to the chips and soda aisle, but he stopped dead at its end, fingers tightening on the cart's handle when he finally located Esca a couple of meters away.
“Cheetos or Fritos? I don't know. Both? I could do both.”
Esca was wearing his sunglasses indoors, dressed like he'd rolled out of bed into baggy shorts and a barely-buttoned plaid shirt. His hair was wet, finger-combed back from that pale forehead. The Dutch guy, Mads or whatever, was hanging off him like a scarf with an over-friendly arm around his neck, Mads' thumb grazing Esca's chest where his shirt was hanging open.
“Both, if you want. I'm here for the chicken wings.”
“Which go better with root beer? Fritos. I think? Aww, this is too difficult, I'm so fucking wasted I can't decide.”
“Someone's got the munchies.”
The sing-song tone of Mads' voice made Marcus want to knock him out. Just pull back a fist and drive it right into that snub nose, feeling the crack, a spurt of blood across his knuckles. His hands were aching and he looked down, distantly noting that he was grabbing hold of the cart so tight he could see the yellow of his knuckle bones through his skin. To think he'd cleaned the apartment and done the dishes, hadn't bugged Esca about where he was, and had even been planning to buy the goddamn Franken Berry when apparently where Esca had been was with this Dutch fuck getting baked and God knows what else when they had the show to do later . . . it was assholish. Inconsiderate, irresponsible and fucking aggravating. He turned to leave, aware that he was way too mad to deal with this in public without blowing up.
“Isn't that your . . . Marcus?” Marcus stiffened, pausing, not wanting to listen to a word of that flat, transatlantic accent. “Yo, Marcus! Behind you, we're over here.”
He blew out a breath, trying to calm his racing pulse, then turned to give as polite a smile as he could towards where Mads was goofily waving at him with the arm not hanging off Esca. Esca's mouth was set in a line, his eyes hidden behind the shades, but he gave Marcus a nod.
“Alright?”
“Hey.” Marcus returned the nod. What hadn't been much of a smile to start with dropped away. “Hey, Mads. How's it going?”
“Good, it's good. Beautiful day, huh? We're buying lunch. The wings here are legendary.”
“I've heard that. Haven't tried them.”
“They're amazing, you have to. Cheap and greasy as shit but,” Mads gave a sex moan. Marcus's hands tightened on his cart again. “So good. Which reminds me, boop, we should grab some paper towels. Good wings are messy. Worth it, but messy.”
Esca had gone back to examining the bag of Cheetos in his hand. “We'll pick some up on the way out.”
“Esca, you think Marcus would like, uh . . . ?” Mads looked from Marcus to Esca, who shrugged without looking away from the Cheetos, then back to Marcus. “It's so hot, we're chilling by my pool. You should come hang.”
Last night, before Marcus had fallen asleep with Esca's ankle against his leg, it would've seemed like a perfect way to relax before the show. The gritty winds had stopped a few weeks back, the sun climbing higher and hotter each day. The idea of being in the water with Esca was definitely an interesting one. Floating on an inflatable together, feet trailing in the water, maybe making out on it if Mads left them alone at all. They'd tip over and fall in.
“Sounds great. I can't, but thanks. Maybe next time.”
“Fab.” Esca gave him a glimmer of a smile as he dropped the bag of Cheetos into the basket at his feet. “I'm sure you've got stuff to do, so we won't keep you.”
Marcus wanted to grab him and shake him, ask him what the hell, or remind him they were working later and that this was bullshit. Or just grab him and kiss him until everything and everyone else fell away, leaving just the two of them, mouths open, arms tight, bodies trying to fit closer to each other. Either one.
“Yeah, well . . . enjoy your lunch.” He didn't try to smile as he looked into the blank of Esca's sunglasses. “I'll see you later.”
“Yep. Will do.”
“Take it easy, Mads.”
“You, too.”
As he pushed his cart away and turned the aisle's corner, Marcus could hear Mads' hiss over a customer service announcement, 'The fuck was all that about? You didn't say there was a problem with you guys, you should've . . .' Perhaps if Marcus hadn't been mad as hell and had stuck around to listen to the rest of it and Esca's answer, he'd have some fucking clue himself.
-
“I don't need a lecture. I'm sure you've got a lecture all planned out, but I don't need or want it.” Esca threw his keys on the counter then halted halfway between the kitchen and the couch, looking around himself like he'd lost something. “Something's different. What's different?”
Marcus switched off the TV. He'd been staring at it for the last hour but had no clue what had been on. “I cleaned.”
“Oh. Thought we'd been robbed or something for a second there.”
“And there's the paranoia. You don't need a lecture?”
“No.” Esca looked around himself for a second longer. “Looks nice. I need a shower.”
“It can wait.”
“No lecture! It's like calling dibs.”
But Esca was almost at the bedroom door when all the fight went out of him, shoulders hunching as he sighed and spun around to slump down onto the other end of the couch. His face looked pinched, unshaven, his eyes bloodshot, hair messily hiked back with his shades. No longer a cute sixteen.
“Despite what you probably think, I do realize that today was a, uh. A questionable choice on my part.”
Marcus didn't reply. Partly because he wanted to see what else Esca might say, but he didn't have a lecture planned and wasn't sure where to start. Esca slouched further into the couch and closed his eyes.
“I'm so fucking tired. Y'know? You get it, I'm sure you must do. Show after show after . . . so I went AWOL for a morning. Big fucking deal. Stopped smoking a few hours back, and we've got a couple of hours. I'll be fine after a shower.”
It'd taken Marcus an hour to figure out it wasn't the weed that was his problem. “You're sure about that?”
Esca's eyes opened a crack and glared at him. “Yes.”
“Okay. If you say so.”
He left it at that and turned the TV back on, sensing Esca's eyes on him for an entire car commercial.
“I'm not stoned. I've had about fifteen coffees. Mads has a Keurig.”
“Caffeine, too? That'll help.”
“I don't get jitters.”
“Great.”
“I don't.”
“Well, that's good.”
Esca stared at him awhile longer, then cursed under his breath, getting up to walk into the bedroom, spine ramrod straight. Marcus closed his eyes. He had to say something. Exactly what he'd say or what would happen after was beyond him.
“What exactly is the problem? Why aren't you . . .” The shirt and shades were gone. Esca was standing there in only his shorts, his ears turning red with temper.
“Why aren't I what?” Esca cursed again, 'Fucking hell', and disappeared back into the bedroom, Marcus raising his voice to call through. “Why aren't I what, Esca?”
“Mad at me. You looked like you were going to punch me in the neck at the Stop'n'Shop.”
“I got over it.”
Esca's head appeared around the bedroom door. The smoky blue of his eyes looked almost gray, his expression guarded. “You're sure? I thought you were going to freak. I'm not avoiding you, by the way, I do actually need to shower. I must reek of weed.”
“Just weed?”
He'd blurted it out without thinking. Marcus felt his chest ache as Esca stared at him, frowning in confusion and suspicion, eyes narrowing on identifying a possible meaning behind those two small words. He'd shouldn't have said anything. He focused back on the TV like he'd figured out what show was on.
“What, you . . .” Esca sniffed, coming back towards the couch. “You thought that Mads and me, that we were . . .”
“I didn't think anything.”
“Sounds like you did, and like it bothered you.” The couch creaked when Esca sat back down, all the way over at the other end. “Because you know, Mads is a mate. That's it.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He couldn't look at Esca. Marcus raised the remote to switch stations although everything over an inch from his nose was a blur. “Sure. We talked about it.”
“So, me and Mads was nothing to do with it? You going all caveman in the store?”
Say something. Quit being so chickenshit. He forced himself to look at Esca, and the air thickened in his throat like he wouldn't be able to get the words out. “You know what? Yeah. It bothered me, and I didn't know what to do with that. That's not what we are.”
“Ah.” Esca made a sympathetic face, almost like a wince. “No. It's not.”
“When you weren't here this morning, and then in the store,” Marcus sighed and turned the TV off. Suck it up. Get it said aloud, out there in reality where it wouldn't feel so big. “I got it. I was already looking for a place. After the store I made a call and -”
“Wait, wait, wait. You got what, exactly? You're the one who pissed off out all day yesterday without a fucking word.”
“I know. I was checking out some apartments. I didn't know how to tell you without it becoming a problem.”
The confusion in Esca's eyes had a hint of hurt to it, his mouth puckering inwards as he looked away from Marcus and down at his hands. If they'd been anything more than they were, Marcus would've reached out and pulled him into a hug. “I thought we'd agreed there was no rush.”
“We did, and you've been great about that.” Marcus laid his head against the couch's back. He couldn't stop looking at Esca, the unguarded curve of his neck, all his barbs laid flat. “But it's been long enough. I like you, Esca. I mean, I like you and the sex is crazy good. It feels like we're getting closer to something, I don't know. Is that just me? I see you with some guy's arm around you and I want to break his motherfucking nose. That's not good.”
Esca leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.
“Fuck no, it's really not.” It was a mumble. Perhaps he should've waited till Esca hadn't spend the day getting baked. “I thought you didn't get involved that way with guys.”
“I didn't.”
Esca's hands fell away. That aura was back, all that intensity, the concentration of his slim frame pulling all the energy in room towards him as he gazed out the window. “And you want that now?”
Marcus reached out an arm along the back of the couch. Esca was too far away, but he had to make a gesture. His heart was racing as fast as it had been when they'd kissed, that first time they'd hooked up.
“I thought about it all day. I think I do, or at least to acknowledge it might happen. Do you?”
Esca looked at him with fierce, murky eyes, face all sharp bone and angle. Marcus waited, the small spark of hope he'd had that they might figure something out draining away over every silent second. Then Esca sighed and shook his head.
“No. I don't. I can't.”
It was good. It cut deep, but it was what he needed to hear. “Okay. That's . . . that's okay.”
“Shit. I'm sorry.”
“No, it's good. It's, uh, it's good. Go shower.” Marcus got to his feet, then stood there as he had no idea why he'd gotten up.
“Marcus . . .”
“No.” He shook Esca's hand off his bicep where Esca had come to stand in front of him. “It's okay. I put a deposit down on a place this afternoon. They're checking references, I should have the keys in a couple of days once my check clears. I'll take the couch till then.”
Calloused fingers took hold of his elbows, but Marcus kept looking down at his shirt because his nose was burning and he was in danger of embarrassing himself further.
“Don't be an arsehole. Fuck the couch. I can keep my hands to myself, and it's a big bed.”
“It is.” His throat ached. “I think I'm going to miss it.”
Esca's hand cupped his jaw, a thumb rubbing over his cheek, and Marcus gave into impulse, leaning his head into it.
“The bed's not going anywhere. It'll be here if you ever get an unscratchable itch you need a hand with, know what I mean?”
“Yeah. Anyway,” Marcus blinked his way out of it, lifting his head out of Esca's hand and stepping away. “You go shower. I don't know if you're hungry but I got groceries, cereal . . . I'm going to get out of here, get some air before the show.”
“Don't. Marcus, c'mon.”
“No, we'll be good. Give me an hour, I'll see you there.”
“Marcus . . .”
He didn't stop, moving at a half-jog that made his knee ache, all the way out to the visitor parking and out of sight of Esca and the apartment. Getting into the oven-blast heat of his rental, Marcus hit the gas and drove. The day he'd gotten the last diagnosis on the condition of his knee, he'd fallen into the nearest bar and hadn't crawled out of it for a week. But tonight he had a show to do and that wasn't an option, so he drove out past Henderson to the vacant lots, sitting on the hood of his rental to watch birds surfing dying thermals above the hills as the sun started to go down, trying hard to convince himself that it was simply another new start in a seemingly endless line.
-
“Oh, thank fuck. Wasn't sure you were going to show up.”
Relief wiped out some of the wariness in Esca's reflection. The combination of the latex headpiece, feathered arms and the torn Def Leppard t-shirt always made Marcus smile before. He didn't have it in him tonight.
“I said I'd be here.”
“You're late.”
“By ten minutes.” He hung his costume on its hook by his dresser and toed out of his shoes. The easiest way had to be going through the motions, his usual routine, step by step.
“You're never late, you didn't answer your phone, and that's ten minutes you left me cacking my fucking tights.”
Looked like Esca was starting his pre-show piss fit early. Marcus pulled his shirt off over his head before folding it and throwing it up onto his shelf. “I figured you'd still be mellow after this morning.”
“Bugger off, pompous fucking prig. I've got Micah waiting, and so do you, so get a shift on.” But Esca didn't leave, getting up from his stool while watching Marcus, who'd started unbuttoning his jeans in an attempt to force himself to not feel awkward undressing around Esca. “But, anyway, you're okay?”
“I'm outstanding. Go get sprayed.”
Esca breathed out through his nose, pausing, hanging out by the door while Marcus wished he'd just go already. “Is this going to be a problem?”
“Not unless you make it one.” Esca fidgeted by the doorway some more, and Marcus lost patience, going over to open the door himself and ushering Esca through. “We're good. This is exactly what we talked about - I get my own place, and we go back to how it was before. Get going.”
“Okay. But we'll talk later. After.”
Marcus let Esca go rather than disagreeing with him and continuing with a pointless discussion. There wasn't anything left to talk about, so he had to keep his head down and get back to where he needed to be. It was a pretty simple equation. Working efficiently, Marcus moved through his initial warm-up, making sure he was dressed and ready for air-brushing by the time Esca got back, giving Esca a curt nod and leaving him to the small shared space they'd have to cohabit over the foreseeable future. So he went to get sprayed, because that was next on his internal checklist, continuing to stretch out his arms and shoulders on his way back to the dressing room.
“Where's the new place?”
“You won't like it.”
Esca rolled his eyes at Marcus in his mirror, halfway through covering the rest of his face with its first layer of pale gray-green. “How about I'm entitled to my opinion, and you're entitled to ignore it?”
“Downtown North. Off Belmont.”
The look Esca gave him, dubious and like Marcus had lost his mind, made Marcus grin for the first time all day. “You're in a gang now? Bloods or Crips?”
Amazingly, Marcus found himself laughing as he started painting the bark's stripes onto his face with a grease stick. “You see how you are? It's not that bad.”
“For a corpse.” Esca returned to sponging at his nose, squinting at himself between applications. “You might want to spend more and rent somewhere that's not above a meth lab.”
“I'm on a budget.” He still owed his mom and his uncle two-thirds of what he was contracted for over the show's first run.
“For all of a week before you get stabbed.”
“You don't have to visit if you don't like it.” He didn't get a reply. Marcus found Esca's reflection in his mirror, those guarded eyes regarding him cautiously. “It's cool, you don't.”
“What would that be like, if I did? Us, hanging out.”
He quit looking at Esca. Concentrated on getting his show face on. Step by step. “I don't want to talk about this now.”
“I know. I'm just saying,”
“It's thirty minutes till beginners.”
“If I came by the new place to visit, we'd be, what? Buddies of the non-fuck variety?”
“If that's possible. I hope it is.”
“Yeah.”
“But we can work together, and that's okay.” It had to be.
“Like we said.”
“Exactly.”
They continued getting ready in a silence so thick and uneasy that every intercom announcement made Marcus's blood pressure shoot skywards. He pushed all thoughts of the act to the back of his mind, all those extra kisses and touches they'd added into the act since hooking up taunting him in shades of precognition. He started on his final warm-up, trying to maintain focus and ignore how Esca was transforming himself into his beguiling imp, how the acute, tapering angles of Esca's face and feral venom of his eyes became so emphatically feline once painted in. How the beauty of that tight, built body beneath the t-shirt was underscored by the translucent body suit, all its vitality and pliability accentuated with its curving lines of feathers. That body would be in his arms in under fifteen minutes, writhing around him and relying on a strength Marcus wasn't entirely confident he'd be able to summon.
“I shouldn't say this, but -” Esca paused in the hallway on their way to the wings after their call had gone out, but Marcus closed him out, trying to continue on his way.
“If you shouldn't, then don't.”
“No, wait.” Esca physically blocked his path. “I owe it to you to be honest with you.”
“Now is not the time. Shift your ass, we've got a show to do.”
The tension in Esca had been ramping up just as it always did before a show, so much so that the air was practically humming around him. Marcus wouldn't have been that surprised to see sparks shooting off the top of his headpiece. He'd figured it was Esca's usual pre-show nerves, which had never totally gone away, but the urgency in Esca's fingers digging into his forearms seemed like it came from somewhere else, something different.
“Two seconds, that's it. I lied by omission, before. Back home.”
“Sure, okay, whatever. We'll deal with it later.”
“No, now. If I don't say it now . . .”
Esca fell silent as two of the butterfly dancers pushed past them wiping sweat off their faces. They were going to be late, and panic started to bubble in Marcus's blood.
“We have to go. I don't miss cues.”
“It wasn't just you, and I should've said so.”
He'd walked two, three steps towards the wings when the words hit him. Marcus turned back to see Esca's imp standing there in the yellow hallway lights, watching for his reaction. He didn't have one to give. So Esca moved to where Marcus was, his breath bitter with nervous strain.
“I felt things changing. Along with you, y'know, smoking the pink pipe, which was a truly magnificent first go, just so you know.”
Esca could always make him laugh. He started to move again, shaking his head, “I swear to God, you have the worst timing.”
They'd come to the point where they had to separate, where Marcus had to continue down the steps to the pit, Esca's route taking him behind the backdrop and up to the scissor lift. But Esca tugged Marcus down, holding his face in both those strong, feathered hands, uncaring of more butterfly dancers and kite puppeteers exiting the stage and swarming around them.
“It's probably for the best, but I'm sorry I ran off like that.”
“You were wigging out?”
“Something like that.”
Marcus removed Esca's hands from his jaw, squeezing them softly before letting them go.
“It's okay. We're good. Go.”
He watched as Esca gave him a tight-lipped nod and moved to follow his black-clad technician, all that exasperating complexity darting off like a hummingbird. Marcus straightened his shoulders, muttered a quick prayer that was rather more profane than his usual one, then began his descent into the darkness.
Pairing: Esca/Marcus
Rating: NC-17
Length: 5.4k
Warnings:
Summary: Marcus and Esca are acrobats performing in a Vegas circus spectacular, and Marcus is trying to figure out what's happening between them.
He thought it had gone well. Marcus knew his technique needed work and, despite waking with a nagging ache at the back of his neck, he was willing to put in the time necessary to do better. He'd liked it, which was a new thing to process. But overall, they'd both seemed get off on it and, if he was honest, Marcus had woken up expecting something in return. A bunch of snarky comments about how much he'd drooled, with a throwaway compliment afterward and then, ideally, Esca would decide to show Marcus how to do it correctly, because a morning beej from Esca usually set Marcus up for a morning of feeling goddamn awesome about everything.
The apartment was empty. Esca didn't reply to a text, which, according to Marcus's cell, remained unread an hour later. They'd usually hang out together in the mornings, taking it slow after a jerk off, then Marcus would go through his morning stretches while Esca showered, then he'd shower, and they'd watch TV and not talk much. They'd eat whatever leftover takeout was in the fridge, or sometimes they'd go grab breakfast somewhere to laugh at all the tourists looking shell-shocked and hungover. Instead he was stuck doing laundry and trying to figure out if dealing with the numerous piles of Esca's discarded socks and underwear was likely to get himself onto Esca's shit list.
“Hello?” Marcus grabbed his phone without looking at it, holding it between his shoulder and ear while he continued trying to pack three days of dishes into the dishwasher, Tetris-style. “Oh, hey, Mom. How's it - sure. I'm doing chores . . . I know, huh.”
He'd leave the rest of the kitchen till he was done talking, instead crossing the room to drop down onto the couch, lying flat with his head propped against the arm rest while his mother went into raptures over the article he'd emailed her. Third month into the new show, and their act was the new feature on the official website. They'd gotten fanmail. It blew his mind.
“Yeah. I liked that one.” A photo of Esca's imp, his feathered fingers curled around Marcus's chin as they stared up into each other's eyes. “I'll tell him you thought so. Tickets? I already said I'd get you tickets. No, I told you that. I did. Last month. It's, just, the show's, y'know . . . yeah, Mom, I get that you're aware of sex. No, I . . . we've had this conversation before. I know. Yeah. I'm glad you liked - Thanks. I'm proud of me, too.”
He picked at a hole in the couch's fabric. The apartment was plenty big enough compared with the ones he'd seen yesterday, but it was shabby, everything starting to fall apart, old rental furniture and all of Esca's personal stuff stacked in piles like he'd never totally moved in. If Marcus was renting it, he'd at least get a big beanbag chair or a recliner, and a big TV unit with an Xbox and sound bar. Some shelves around the place, maybe some prints on the walls. A plant or a fish or something.
“Gimme a few weeks. I'm looking for my own place, you could come stay once I got it comfortable. No motels, Mom. Bedbugs, that's why. No, it's real thing. Because I need my own place. So you can come visit, for one reason . . . I can't, there's no room here.”
It was like his mom thought he and Esca were roomies like out of a college movie frat house or something. There was no elegant way Marcus could think of to tell his mom anything close to the truth, whatever that was, without it being some big Lifetime moment.
“It's Esca's place. Yeah, I'm sure he'd be okay with it, but I don't - No, Mom, I don't want to ask. It's only one-bed, I told you. I'm on the couch.” Marcus's face burned. He closed his eyes, stretching his stiff neck backwards and rubbing over his forehead with his hand. He'd never been great at lying to anyone, but most of all his mom. “Give me a month to get a place and I'll fly you out. Your birthday, can you wait that long? I know this girl whose parents own this cool apartment with a view of the Strip, and I could . . . no, it's not like that. I'm not dating anyone. Because I've been busy with other stuff.”
Marcus sighed and let the phone drop away from his ear, his mom's voice reaching him anyhow. He silently counted to ten before he put it back in place.
“Nattie's good, we hung out yesterday. She was helping me check out a few . . . No, that's not going to happen . . . I know you do. I know. She's great, she's dating a guy from Anima. I will. No, I'll tell her, I swear. Hey, I should get going - my knee's doing okay, thanks.” He flexed it, feeling that slight click where his anterior cruciate was permanently overstretched, always a little too mobile. “It's holding up. I know, I will. You got the check, though, right? No, I want to. Mom . . . please, I feel better about it this way.”
His mom segued into a monologue about the local homeowners' association, how her allergies were acting up, and his sister's boss, and his uncle's problems with a wasp infestation. Marcus uh-huh'ed and expressed interest at appropriate intervals, a growing awareness of his mom's distance seeming like it stretched hundreds of miles and years away. If he hadn't met Esca, he'd be there now, back home in the kind of small town where ordering the salmon at Denny's had the whole place figuring you were some kind of health nut and thought yourself fancy.
“Yeah, me too, I should . . . Okay, I will. Love you, too. You, too. 'Bye.”
The sun was already too hot this close to the window, bouncing back off the paving outside, turning the apartment into a heat box even with the ceiling fan on full speed. Marcus carefully peeled back the tape where Esca had forbidden any changes to the thermostat, dropping the central air ten degrees and standing in front of the vent to cool himself off while he tried to work out the ache in his neck. Most of the building's residents had to be regular people as the place was dead during the day, unlike Nattie's complex where resort workers and performers from all the different shows around town were coming and going every hour of the day and night. He didn't notice how quiet it was around here when Esca was home. Marcus looked down at the phone in his hand, taking half a minute to decide to delete his second text of the morning to Esca before sending it.
-
They needed more laundry detergent. Marcus grabbed a carton of his usual brand and placed it in the cart, singing along under his breath with the song piping around the store, 'There were plants and birds and rocks and things . . .' It was one of his mom's old favorites, a song he'd grown up with. Weird he'd hear it today an hour after she'd called him.
Ziplock bags. He'd been lazy, getting into the same eating habits as Esca, grabbing whatever was at hand or closest to the counter at the gas station on the way into work, and would feel the energy sapping out of him halfway through the toughest balances. He'd already picked up a crate of coconut water. Next into the cart would be almonds, oatmeal flaxseed crackers and some ready-prepped veggies, maybe some chicken or something, before he tackled the puzzle over whether or not he should grab Esca some Froot Loops or Peanut Butter Crunch.
Esca inhaled sugary cereal like most people breathed air. A box would last three days, if that. He shouldn't encourage it, but Marcus found himself in the cereal aisle wincing at the nutritional content of Franken Berry and wondering if eating it with almond milk instead of the regular kind would make any difference, when a familiar scornful laugh caught his attention. Looking each way up and down the aisle, he caught sight of one skinny leg disappearing from sight, one of Esca's favorite falling-apart sneakers on the end of it.
The urgency of his physical reaction jolted him, Marcus's heart picking up speed and his cock pulsing with a sudden rush of blood. He saw one sneaker and was popping a chub? Dammit. Marcus threw the Franken Berry into the cart, annoyed with himself at how juvenile it was, then started pushing his cart off towards where he'd seen Esca's foot, walking faster than he should. He could've avoided this whole issue if he'd stuck with Trader Joe's or Whole Foods. Instinct drew him to the chips and soda aisle, but he stopped dead at its end, fingers tightening on the cart's handle when he finally located Esca a couple of meters away.
“Cheetos or Fritos? I don't know. Both? I could do both.”
Esca was wearing his sunglasses indoors, dressed like he'd rolled out of bed into baggy shorts and a barely-buttoned plaid shirt. His hair was wet, finger-combed back from that pale forehead. The Dutch guy, Mads or whatever, was hanging off him like a scarf with an over-friendly arm around his neck, Mads' thumb grazing Esca's chest where his shirt was hanging open.
“Both, if you want. I'm here for the chicken wings.”
“Which go better with root beer? Fritos. I think? Aww, this is too difficult, I'm so fucking wasted I can't decide.”
“Someone's got the munchies.”
The sing-song tone of Mads' voice made Marcus want to knock him out. Just pull back a fist and drive it right into that snub nose, feeling the crack, a spurt of blood across his knuckles. His hands were aching and he looked down, distantly noting that he was grabbing hold of the cart so tight he could see the yellow of his knuckle bones through his skin. To think he'd cleaned the apartment and done the dishes, hadn't bugged Esca about where he was, and had even been planning to buy the goddamn Franken Berry when apparently where Esca had been was with this Dutch fuck getting baked and God knows what else when they had the show to do later . . . it was assholish. Inconsiderate, irresponsible and fucking aggravating. He turned to leave, aware that he was way too mad to deal with this in public without blowing up.
“Isn't that your . . . Marcus?” Marcus stiffened, pausing, not wanting to listen to a word of that flat, transatlantic accent. “Yo, Marcus! Behind you, we're over here.”
He blew out a breath, trying to calm his racing pulse, then turned to give as polite a smile as he could towards where Mads was goofily waving at him with the arm not hanging off Esca. Esca's mouth was set in a line, his eyes hidden behind the shades, but he gave Marcus a nod.
“Alright?”
“Hey.” Marcus returned the nod. What hadn't been much of a smile to start with dropped away. “Hey, Mads. How's it going?”
“Good, it's good. Beautiful day, huh? We're buying lunch. The wings here are legendary.”
“I've heard that. Haven't tried them.”
“They're amazing, you have to. Cheap and greasy as shit but,” Mads gave a sex moan. Marcus's hands tightened on his cart again. “So good. Which reminds me, boop, we should grab some paper towels. Good wings are messy. Worth it, but messy.”
Esca had gone back to examining the bag of Cheetos in his hand. “We'll pick some up on the way out.”
“Esca, you think Marcus would like, uh . . . ?” Mads looked from Marcus to Esca, who shrugged without looking away from the Cheetos, then back to Marcus. “It's so hot, we're chilling by my pool. You should come hang.”
Last night, before Marcus had fallen asleep with Esca's ankle against his leg, it would've seemed like a perfect way to relax before the show. The gritty winds had stopped a few weeks back, the sun climbing higher and hotter each day. The idea of being in the water with Esca was definitely an interesting one. Floating on an inflatable together, feet trailing in the water, maybe making out on it if Mads left them alone at all. They'd tip over and fall in.
“Sounds great. I can't, but thanks. Maybe next time.”
“Fab.” Esca gave him a glimmer of a smile as he dropped the bag of Cheetos into the basket at his feet. “I'm sure you've got stuff to do, so we won't keep you.”
Marcus wanted to grab him and shake him, ask him what the hell, or remind him they were working later and that this was bullshit. Or just grab him and kiss him until everything and everyone else fell away, leaving just the two of them, mouths open, arms tight, bodies trying to fit closer to each other. Either one.
“Yeah, well . . . enjoy your lunch.” He didn't try to smile as he looked into the blank of Esca's sunglasses. “I'll see you later.”
“Yep. Will do.”
“Take it easy, Mads.”
“You, too.”
As he pushed his cart away and turned the aisle's corner, Marcus could hear Mads' hiss over a customer service announcement, 'The fuck was all that about? You didn't say there was a problem with you guys, you should've . . .' Perhaps if Marcus hadn't been mad as hell and had stuck around to listen to the rest of it and Esca's answer, he'd have some fucking clue himself.
-
“I don't need a lecture. I'm sure you've got a lecture all planned out, but I don't need or want it.” Esca threw his keys on the counter then halted halfway between the kitchen and the couch, looking around himself like he'd lost something. “Something's different. What's different?”
Marcus switched off the TV. He'd been staring at it for the last hour but had no clue what had been on. “I cleaned.”
“Oh. Thought we'd been robbed or something for a second there.”
“And there's the paranoia. You don't need a lecture?”
“No.” Esca looked around himself for a second longer. “Looks nice. I need a shower.”
“It can wait.”
“No lecture! It's like calling dibs.”
But Esca was almost at the bedroom door when all the fight went out of him, shoulders hunching as he sighed and spun around to slump down onto the other end of the couch. His face looked pinched, unshaven, his eyes bloodshot, hair messily hiked back with his shades. No longer a cute sixteen.
“Despite what you probably think, I do realize that today was a, uh. A questionable choice on my part.”
Marcus didn't reply. Partly because he wanted to see what else Esca might say, but he didn't have a lecture planned and wasn't sure where to start. Esca slouched further into the couch and closed his eyes.
“I'm so fucking tired. Y'know? You get it, I'm sure you must do. Show after show after . . . so I went AWOL for a morning. Big fucking deal. Stopped smoking a few hours back, and we've got a couple of hours. I'll be fine after a shower.”
It'd taken Marcus an hour to figure out it wasn't the weed that was his problem. “You're sure about that?”
Esca's eyes opened a crack and glared at him. “Yes.”
“Okay. If you say so.”
He left it at that and turned the TV back on, sensing Esca's eyes on him for an entire car commercial.
“I'm not stoned. I've had about fifteen coffees. Mads has a Keurig.”
“Caffeine, too? That'll help.”
“I don't get jitters.”
“Great.”
“I don't.”
“Well, that's good.”
Esca stared at him awhile longer, then cursed under his breath, getting up to walk into the bedroom, spine ramrod straight. Marcus closed his eyes. He had to say something. Exactly what he'd say or what would happen after was beyond him.
“What exactly is the problem? Why aren't you . . .” The shirt and shades were gone. Esca was standing there in only his shorts, his ears turning red with temper.
“Why aren't I what?” Esca cursed again, 'Fucking hell', and disappeared back into the bedroom, Marcus raising his voice to call through. “Why aren't I what, Esca?”
“Mad at me. You looked like you were going to punch me in the neck at the Stop'n'Shop.”
“I got over it.”
Esca's head appeared around the bedroom door. The smoky blue of his eyes looked almost gray, his expression guarded. “You're sure? I thought you were going to freak. I'm not avoiding you, by the way, I do actually need to shower. I must reek of weed.”
“Just weed?”
He'd blurted it out without thinking. Marcus felt his chest ache as Esca stared at him, frowning in confusion and suspicion, eyes narrowing on identifying a possible meaning behind those two small words. He'd shouldn't have said anything. He focused back on the TV like he'd figured out what show was on.
“What, you . . .” Esca sniffed, coming back towards the couch. “You thought that Mads and me, that we were . . .”
“I didn't think anything.”
“Sounds like you did, and like it bothered you.” The couch creaked when Esca sat back down, all the way over at the other end. “Because you know, Mads is a mate. That's it.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He couldn't look at Esca. Marcus raised the remote to switch stations although everything over an inch from his nose was a blur. “Sure. We talked about it.”
“So, me and Mads was nothing to do with it? You going all caveman in the store?”
Say something. Quit being so chickenshit. He forced himself to look at Esca, and the air thickened in his throat like he wouldn't be able to get the words out. “You know what? Yeah. It bothered me, and I didn't know what to do with that. That's not what we are.”
“Ah.” Esca made a sympathetic face, almost like a wince. “No. It's not.”
“When you weren't here this morning, and then in the store,” Marcus sighed and turned the TV off. Suck it up. Get it said aloud, out there in reality where it wouldn't feel so big. “I got it. I was already looking for a place. After the store I made a call and -”
“Wait, wait, wait. You got what, exactly? You're the one who pissed off out all day yesterday without a fucking word.”
“I know. I was checking out some apartments. I didn't know how to tell you without it becoming a problem.”
The confusion in Esca's eyes had a hint of hurt to it, his mouth puckering inwards as he looked away from Marcus and down at his hands. If they'd been anything more than they were, Marcus would've reached out and pulled him into a hug. “I thought we'd agreed there was no rush.”
“We did, and you've been great about that.” Marcus laid his head against the couch's back. He couldn't stop looking at Esca, the unguarded curve of his neck, all his barbs laid flat. “But it's been long enough. I like you, Esca. I mean, I like you and the sex is crazy good. It feels like we're getting closer to something, I don't know. Is that just me? I see you with some guy's arm around you and I want to break his motherfucking nose. That's not good.”
Esca leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.
“Fuck no, it's really not.” It was a mumble. Perhaps he should've waited till Esca hadn't spend the day getting baked. “I thought you didn't get involved that way with guys.”
“I didn't.”
Esca's hands fell away. That aura was back, all that intensity, the concentration of his slim frame pulling all the energy in room towards him as he gazed out the window. “And you want that now?”
Marcus reached out an arm along the back of the couch. Esca was too far away, but he had to make a gesture. His heart was racing as fast as it had been when they'd kissed, that first time they'd hooked up.
“I thought about it all day. I think I do, or at least to acknowledge it might happen. Do you?”
Esca looked at him with fierce, murky eyes, face all sharp bone and angle. Marcus waited, the small spark of hope he'd had that they might figure something out draining away over every silent second. Then Esca sighed and shook his head.
“No. I don't. I can't.”
It was good. It cut deep, but it was what he needed to hear. “Okay. That's . . . that's okay.”
“Shit. I'm sorry.”
“No, it's good. It's, uh, it's good. Go shower.” Marcus got to his feet, then stood there as he had no idea why he'd gotten up.
“Marcus . . .”
“No.” He shook Esca's hand off his bicep where Esca had come to stand in front of him. “It's okay. I put a deposit down on a place this afternoon. They're checking references, I should have the keys in a couple of days once my check clears. I'll take the couch till then.”
Calloused fingers took hold of his elbows, but Marcus kept looking down at his shirt because his nose was burning and he was in danger of embarrassing himself further.
“Don't be an arsehole. Fuck the couch. I can keep my hands to myself, and it's a big bed.”
“It is.” His throat ached. “I think I'm going to miss it.”
Esca's hand cupped his jaw, a thumb rubbing over his cheek, and Marcus gave into impulse, leaning his head into it.
“The bed's not going anywhere. It'll be here if you ever get an unscratchable itch you need a hand with, know what I mean?”
“Yeah. Anyway,” Marcus blinked his way out of it, lifting his head out of Esca's hand and stepping away. “You go shower. I don't know if you're hungry but I got groceries, cereal . . . I'm going to get out of here, get some air before the show.”
“Don't. Marcus, c'mon.”
“No, we'll be good. Give me an hour, I'll see you there.”
“Marcus . . .”
He didn't stop, moving at a half-jog that made his knee ache, all the way out to the visitor parking and out of sight of Esca and the apartment. Getting into the oven-blast heat of his rental, Marcus hit the gas and drove. The day he'd gotten the last diagnosis on the condition of his knee, he'd fallen into the nearest bar and hadn't crawled out of it for a week. But tonight he had a show to do and that wasn't an option, so he drove out past Henderson to the vacant lots, sitting on the hood of his rental to watch birds surfing dying thermals above the hills as the sun started to go down, trying hard to convince himself that it was simply another new start in a seemingly endless line.
-
“Oh, thank fuck. Wasn't sure you were going to show up.”
Relief wiped out some of the wariness in Esca's reflection. The combination of the latex headpiece, feathered arms and the torn Def Leppard t-shirt always made Marcus smile before. He didn't have it in him tonight.
“I said I'd be here.”
“You're late.”
“By ten minutes.” He hung his costume on its hook by his dresser and toed out of his shoes. The easiest way had to be going through the motions, his usual routine, step by step.
“You're never late, you didn't answer your phone, and that's ten minutes you left me cacking my fucking tights.”
Looked like Esca was starting his pre-show piss fit early. Marcus pulled his shirt off over his head before folding it and throwing it up onto his shelf. “I figured you'd still be mellow after this morning.”
“Bugger off, pompous fucking prig. I've got Micah waiting, and so do you, so get a shift on.” But Esca didn't leave, getting up from his stool while watching Marcus, who'd started unbuttoning his jeans in an attempt to force himself to not feel awkward undressing around Esca. “But, anyway, you're okay?”
“I'm outstanding. Go get sprayed.”
Esca breathed out through his nose, pausing, hanging out by the door while Marcus wished he'd just go already. “Is this going to be a problem?”
“Not unless you make it one.” Esca fidgeted by the doorway some more, and Marcus lost patience, going over to open the door himself and ushering Esca through. “We're good. This is exactly what we talked about - I get my own place, and we go back to how it was before. Get going.”
“Okay. But we'll talk later. After.”
Marcus let Esca go rather than disagreeing with him and continuing with a pointless discussion. There wasn't anything left to talk about, so he had to keep his head down and get back to where he needed to be. It was a pretty simple equation. Working efficiently, Marcus moved through his initial warm-up, making sure he was dressed and ready for air-brushing by the time Esca got back, giving Esca a curt nod and leaving him to the small shared space they'd have to cohabit over the foreseeable future. So he went to get sprayed, because that was next on his internal checklist, continuing to stretch out his arms and shoulders on his way back to the dressing room.
“Where's the new place?”
“You won't like it.”
Esca rolled his eyes at Marcus in his mirror, halfway through covering the rest of his face with its first layer of pale gray-green. “How about I'm entitled to my opinion, and you're entitled to ignore it?”
“Downtown North. Off Belmont.”
The look Esca gave him, dubious and like Marcus had lost his mind, made Marcus grin for the first time all day. “You're in a gang now? Bloods or Crips?”
Amazingly, Marcus found himself laughing as he started painting the bark's stripes onto his face with a grease stick. “You see how you are? It's not that bad.”
“For a corpse.” Esca returned to sponging at his nose, squinting at himself between applications. “You might want to spend more and rent somewhere that's not above a meth lab.”
“I'm on a budget.” He still owed his mom and his uncle two-thirds of what he was contracted for over the show's first run.
“For all of a week before you get stabbed.”
“You don't have to visit if you don't like it.” He didn't get a reply. Marcus found Esca's reflection in his mirror, those guarded eyes regarding him cautiously. “It's cool, you don't.”
“What would that be like, if I did? Us, hanging out.”
He quit looking at Esca. Concentrated on getting his show face on. Step by step. “I don't want to talk about this now.”
“I know. I'm just saying,”
“It's thirty minutes till beginners.”
“If I came by the new place to visit, we'd be, what? Buddies of the non-fuck variety?”
“If that's possible. I hope it is.”
“Yeah.”
“But we can work together, and that's okay.” It had to be.
“Like we said.”
“Exactly.”
They continued getting ready in a silence so thick and uneasy that every intercom announcement made Marcus's blood pressure shoot skywards. He pushed all thoughts of the act to the back of his mind, all those extra kisses and touches they'd added into the act since hooking up taunting him in shades of precognition. He started on his final warm-up, trying to maintain focus and ignore how Esca was transforming himself into his beguiling imp, how the acute, tapering angles of Esca's face and feral venom of his eyes became so emphatically feline once painted in. How the beauty of that tight, built body beneath the t-shirt was underscored by the translucent body suit, all its vitality and pliability accentuated with its curving lines of feathers. That body would be in his arms in under fifteen minutes, writhing around him and relying on a strength Marcus wasn't entirely confident he'd be able to summon.
“I shouldn't say this, but -” Esca paused in the hallway on their way to the wings after their call had gone out, but Marcus closed him out, trying to continue on his way.
“If you shouldn't, then don't.”
“No, wait.” Esca physically blocked his path. “I owe it to you to be honest with you.”
“Now is not the time. Shift your ass, we've got a show to do.”
The tension in Esca had been ramping up just as it always did before a show, so much so that the air was practically humming around him. Marcus wouldn't have been that surprised to see sparks shooting off the top of his headpiece. He'd figured it was Esca's usual pre-show nerves, which had never totally gone away, but the urgency in Esca's fingers digging into his forearms seemed like it came from somewhere else, something different.
“Two seconds, that's it. I lied by omission, before. Back home.”
“Sure, okay, whatever. We'll deal with it later.”
“No, now. If I don't say it now . . .”
Esca fell silent as two of the butterfly dancers pushed past them wiping sweat off their faces. They were going to be late, and panic started to bubble in Marcus's blood.
“We have to go. I don't miss cues.”
“It wasn't just you, and I should've said so.”
He'd walked two, three steps towards the wings when the words hit him. Marcus turned back to see Esca's imp standing there in the yellow hallway lights, watching for his reaction. He didn't have one to give. So Esca moved to where Marcus was, his breath bitter with nervous strain.
“I felt things changing. Along with you, y'know, smoking the pink pipe, which was a truly magnificent first go, just so you know.”
Esca could always make him laugh. He started to move again, shaking his head, “I swear to God, you have the worst timing.”
They'd come to the point where they had to separate, where Marcus had to continue down the steps to the pit, Esca's route taking him behind the backdrop and up to the scissor lift. But Esca tugged Marcus down, holding his face in both those strong, feathered hands, uncaring of more butterfly dancers and kite puppeteers exiting the stage and swarming around them.
“It's probably for the best, but I'm sorry I ran off like that.”
“You were wigging out?”
“Something like that.”
Marcus removed Esca's hands from his jaw, squeezing them softly before letting them go.
“It's okay. We're good. Go.”
He watched as Esca gave him a tight-lipped nod and moved to follow his black-clad technician, all that exasperating complexity darting off like a hummingbird. Marcus straightened his shoulders, muttered a quick prayer that was rather more profane than his usual one, then began his descent into the darkness.