#Marcus and Aire | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

grumpygreenwitch · 11 months

Text

A Tale of Eden 1

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

I wrote... a thing.

I’ll be honest, I’m not sure what I wrote. It was supposed to be pointless smut, and while it does have the smut, it’s like... 30% of the story. I think. Maybe less. The whole thing’s a little under 20K words.

Eden is a setting near and dear to my heart. I’m world-building on it, but I don’t know that I’ll ever do anything with it. I just like having it.

Still, if you’re interested, the tags on it are #Eden and #Marcus and Aire.

There will be, uh. Erotica, I guess? Male on male intimacy. It will be tagged when it comes up. And there will be violence and blood and gore at the very end, that will also be tagged. And Aire has a mouth on him, so there’ll be a profanity tag too, probably. It will update once a week, Tuesdays at 4 PM (because that’s what time it is now).

Like I said, I don’t know what I wrote.

Aire’s first mistake had been going back to the club.

He’d been lucky the first time. Eden perched like a gleaming island above the city, floating over a sea of lights, rising above the smoke, above the fog, above the stress, the misery, the everyday. It was invitation-only, and not all the money in the world could buy you entry. You might be welcomed one night, and turned away the next.

He’d made it in the back way, with the staff, and by the time the first check had come he looked too much like one of the party-goers, shirt off, pants all but painted on, skin gleaming with UV glitter. Security hadn’t given him too close a look, or so he’d thought. He’d joined the sea of motion on the dance floor, heartbeat matched to the bass, skin growing slick with sweat, lost to the rich hive mind of the dance, drunk in the knowledge that, by his own personal count, he’d won, slipping into a place better watched than heaven itself.

Until a lull in the music had come, and he’d felt a gaze like the grip of a wolf’s teeth on the back of his neck.

He’d seen him then, standing at the edge of the dance floor, hands tucked into the pockets of his suit, looking calm. Relaxed. Amused. There had been a little smile on that gorgeous mouth, and his eyes shone red when the lights hit them just right. And Aire had known. He’d been had. He’d bolted through the crowd, and a few times he’d felt as if there were fingers brushing his back, the breath of something hungry washing over his neck. He’d burst out of the door and ran for nearly a block, and even though he’d been gasping for breath when he stopped, he’d been shivering.

The second time he’d snuck in with a group of young and wealthy socialites. He’d picked the pocket of one for her invitation, not that it had mattered; they’d been waved through en masse.

The music was the sea and the dancers were the tide and he’d forgotten he wasn’t supposed to be there, swaying and twisting, the lights glancing off sweat and glitter and UV chalk. Blasts of ice cold fog washed occasionally over the dancers, obscuring everything from view.

A hand had closed like a vice over the back of his neck, and all the memories he’d fought to forget rushed back and nearly drowned him. The man. The smile. The gleaming eyes.

It felt exactly as if a great beast had clamped its jaws on him. Aire snatched for the arm behind the hand, found fabric and tremendous, inhuman muscle beneath it.

“If you keep coming back,” a low man’s voice said against his ear so he could hear the words over the music, “I’m going to think you like me, sprite.” Aire twisted sharply, with far more strength than his captor expected, broke free, and ran. But this time, there were guards and bouncers at every exit. This time, there was no sneaking out with the staff. This time he was too high up, the streets and their darkness and their corners too far to protect him.

He raced up to the catwalks, hoping to buy himself some time. The man was waiting for him at the top, and when Aire froze at the sight of him, he laughed a little. “You look so offended, sprite.”

“How’s your wrist?” Aire shot back acidly. “Sore,” the man admitted, surprising him. “Nice twist. Needs muscle to back it up. It’s well hidden under all the colors.” He lifted both gloved hands. “I just want to talk.” “I don’t.”

“Not even if I make the invite legal? For once?” Aire’s expression betrayed him, and the man grinned. “Ahhh. It’s the sneaking in that’s fun, not the club.”

“The club’s ok,” he admitted grudgingly.

“Be that as it may,” the bouncer shifted lazily. “The owners don’t like party crashers.” “I’m not crashing the party, I’m joining it.”

“Not my call, not yours, sprite. You want to come back, you go through me.” Slowly, carefully, the man reached into the front pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small card. “One time, sprite. As my guest.” “And what do you want for it?” “For you to sit and talk. If that’s too much, we can stand right here and trade names, maybe?” “No. Not here.” Aire lifted his head. “Outside.”

That caught the man off-guard. “I’m working, sprite, I can’t just walk out.”

“Up top, then. I want to see the Elysium.” The man laughed. “The absolute cheek of you. Alright. Come on, then.”

It had been a test, and the result had been… frightening. Eden’s inner garden was only opened for private parties, so they’d been alone up there, surrounded by plants that gleamed and glowed, by a thousand scents that usually only the highest members of Avalon and Heaven and Hell got to experience. It was raining faintly, a chill autumn drizzle, and Aire turned his face up to it, trying to put his whirling thoughts into any kind of order. Who was this man who could breach the gates of Elysium on a whim, just for him?

Under the purer lights of the garden, they were both of a height. Aire was leaner, but with the rain washing away the glitter, the actual muscle of him was easier to see. He was infinitely paler than his unwanted escort, though the actual shades were impossible to see under the living glow of the plants. “Did you put glamour in the glitter?” The man was a few steps behind Aire, his hands back in his pockets. “I’m not stupid. Magic would have tripped the bouncers’ telltales at the doors.” “Something did trip the telltales on the floor.” The man tipped his head minutely when Aire flushed. “You. It was you. How interesting.” “You wanted to trade names?” “Not literally.” “I’m not Court,” Aire said acidly. “I’m Chantry.”

The man took an automatic step back, as anyone with a sense of self-preservation should. “A mage? Out without an escort?”

“Not enough of one to merit protection. I’m an eyesore, alright? Wherever I go I’m too much or not enough and no one wants me. What about you? Fair’s fair.” “Court,” the man admitted easily. “Stone.” “You are so not a troll.” The man laughed. “Half.”

“What’s the other half?” “Incidental.” “Not to me. It’s how you found me, isn’t it? What is it, hound? Were?”

“Marcus.” Aire’s thoughts derailed.

“Marc, to my friends.” “Aire.” “That is not your real name.”

“It’s my name.” He drew himself up straight and made it painfully obvious that he was terribly put upon by having to do so. “Pleasure to meet you, Marcus.” “Marc to my friends.” “Duly noted, Marcus.”

A wry smile touched the half-troll’s mouth. Aire rubbed restlessly at his shoulders as the silence expanded between them. Marcus was unfairly handsome, and the surprising part of it was Aire could see that much of it was the troll blood in him. The bouncer had powerful, square features, a generous mouth, a nose gone a little crooked, deep brown eyes under heavy black brows and a mass of neatly combed black hair. Aire wasn’t small; he knew this rationally. But before the bouncer, with his half-troll height and those very broad shoulders he felt nearly petite.

The troll bit did explain why he’d had a prey response the first time, at least. He shivered in memory.

A moment later Marcus was draping his jacket over Aire’s shoulders.

“I’m not cold,” he declared haughtily. “No, but your colors are running, and they’re so nice to look at.”

Aire stepped away. The jacket smelled of cologne and more, of things indeterminate and deadly, of magic and stone, of blood and water and dark, cool spaces, of hidden green growth, of forgotten treasures. Goosebumps broke out wherever his skin was touching the satin lining. “It’s gonna get stained,” he murmured. “I’ve got a good dry cleaner. Who are you, little mage? What are you doing here?” Marcus gestured, and they began to walk along the gleaming sand paths. “Well, I was dancing and enjoying myself, until an asshat grabbed me.”

“Dance floor’s for guests.” Marcus’ mouth was twitching.

“I made it through the doors, doesn’t that make me a guest?” “Makes you something, that’s for sure.”

“Really, who am I hurting? I want to dance, Marcus. Yes, it’s fun to sneak in, just because I can. But I want to dance, to have fun, to be in a place where no one cares what I am, where no one cares who I am. On the dance floor I’m one more drop in the ocean, and it’s a good feeling. I don’t get a lot of that.”

“What should we do if the Chantry comes looking for you? Eden’s neutral ground, sprite -”

“Aire!”

“- and if they think we’re harboring a rogue, the club’s suddenly got enemies it can’t afford.”

“No one’s ever truly neutral.”

The muscles along the bouncer’s jaw worked sharply. “My job’s to protect this place, Aire. Don’t get between a troll and his grotto.”

“My job’s to sneak in, have fun and sneak out. That’s it,” Aire pointed out defiantly. “Don’t get between my fun and me.”

Marcus tucked his hands back in his pockets, and Aire realized he was doing so to keep them out of sight. “What’s it going to take to keep you out of trouble?” “Oh, that’s more of a fight than any one person can pick up, let alone win.”

“I do love a challenge. Fine. What’s it going to take to keep you out of trouble here? If I keep inviting you, does it lose its appeal?” “You would, too.” “Absolutely.”

“Well, it hasn’t lost its appeal yet!” At that the bouncer did laugh out loud, rich and merry. “Then I’ll see you next time, little sprite.” “Aire!” “And I’m Marc to my friends.”

He left him there in the rain with his jacket. Aire slept wrapped up in it.

***

When he returned to Eden Aire was terribly disappointed to find that the card, while it did indeed grant him entrance, didn’t immediately summon the bouncer. He sulked at the bar over a club soda, eventually popping the maraschino that came with it in his mouth and making his way to the dance floor, willingly surrendering himself to the press of bodies and the flooding heat, one of many, a leaf in a storm among so many others, waiting only to be plucked away and sent to a higher, stranger place.

He danced until he was panting and sweat-sheened, and staggered when the music finally began to peter out.

A hand caught and steadied him. “Evening, sprite.” He latched onto that hand and lifted it to his face. The bouncer immediately tried to yank it away, but Aire, again, was stronger than he looked. He ran his fingers over it and, unsurprisingly, found soft, exquisitely crafted gloves in place. But even with those balking him he could feel no massive claws at the tips of Marcus’ fingers.

“You’re not a were.” Marcus closed his hand into a fist when Aire tried to get the glove off. “Told you. Troll.”

“Half-troll. Or you’d have eaten me by now.” Marcus’ brows shot upward, and his mouth curled into a very subtle smile. “The desire’s been there.”

Aire felt himself go profoundly red, caught completely off-guard by that admission. He shoved the hand and its owner away and stalked off to the bar for water. When another card was offered, he snatched it away after a moment’s irritated frustration. “Are you trying to buy me off? It won’t work.” “I get the feeling I won’t see you if it’s not here, sprite -” “Aire.”

“- so I’m hedging my odds a little.” “You think you got a chance with me?” Aire scoffed. “Have some self-respect, set your sights a little higher.” Marcus shot a hand out and caught his chin. “They’re high enough. Don’t do that, Aire. Whatever might be going on with you and your life, don’t whittle away at who you are and what you’ve achieved.” Aire suddenly felt as if he couldn’t breathe. “I haven’t achieved jack,” he managed, startlingly and unexpectedly hungry for the warmth of that hand, the relentless, calm touch of that level brown gaze on him. “You’re not in the Chantry. Let’s toss in escaping the mage-hounds, while we’re at that.” Marcus grinned. “And you’re in Eden. Achievements, both.”

“They would be if you let me sneak in.”

Marcus said nothing. They turned their backs to the bar and watched the ebb and flow of the club. “Are we still trading?” Aire asked suddenly. “If you like.” “I’m not full mage.”

“Mages kill half-breeds.” Marcus frowned.

“If they can catch them.”

“You’re giving me a secret. A treasure. What are you going to ask for in exchange, I wonder.”

“Protection.” “I’m giving you that already.” “No. Preemptive protection. Because… Because you’re nice, and you’re being nice to me, and I don’t want to… I don’t want to end up thralled by accident. Not by you.” Marcus’ brows shot up. “And how would you know about being thralled?” “Whatever! Just, can you – I don’t know! Make it so I know it’s me, it’s honest?”

“Yes, but you won’t let me.”

“I just asked you to!” “It takes a kiss.”

“Excuse me?!” Aire drew back, insulted. “I told you you wouldn’t let me. I need to kiss you. It puts a mark on you, like a vaccine. Just enough glamour to bounce off the general… ambient energy.”

“You’re lying.” “I swear I’m not. And trolls suck at lying anyway.”

“How very convenient,” Aire ground out through gritted teeth. “I’ll leave you to think on it.”

He did think on it. It took him nearly a week to make up his mind and go back to Eden, and he went up to the catwalk to stare at the dance floor rather than join it. “I never meant to chase you away, Aire,” the quiet, rumbling voice of the half-troll came not too long after, apologetic and still so calm. “You didn’t.” He turned. The hoodie he’d been wearing was draped over the railing, and colors rioted over the pale muscles of his chest and arms. “Why are you being nice to me, Marcus?” He saw the half-troll pause and frown, the dark brown of his eyes looking at nothing. “Because you dance as if you’d rather die than stop.” He shrugged. “It’s a troll thing. You see something in a cage, you want to let it out.”

Aire felt the world go out from under him. Without knowing him, without knowing hardly anything about him, the bouncer had read him far more deeply, far better than anyone in Aire’s life ever had. “You can’t make me like you,” he whispered.

“No. But you can.”

“What’s the other half?” “What’s yours?”

“That’s not fair.” “Life’s not fair. We still go along for the ride.”

“Don’t you philosophize at me, that’s rude.”

Marcus let out a short, surprised bark of laughter.

“Fine. One kiss.”

The bouncer looked openly stunned. Then he stepped forward. “One kiss. Are you sure? It puts a mark on you. I swear to you, Aire, on the stone of my heart, that I would never claim you, but it’s still going to be there for others to see.”

“Good. Can you make it this color?” Aire pointed to a bright spray of crimson glitter on one side of his neck, watched the half-troll’s eyes follow. He’d expected hunger, but not the kind that made those eyes light up. “Not a vampire, either.”

“I wouldn’t mind a bite,” Marcus declared, voice gone low, “just not that kind.” Suddenly he was there, before Aire, all powerful muscles and broad shoulders and that inhuman scent of troll and… and what? He braced himself, breath catching. Marcus leaned forward, and Aire’s eyes fluttered closed in both trepidation and anticipation. With the lightest touch, the bouncer kissed Aire’s forehead, lingering, the warmth of the contact flooding through him like summer and sun-touched honey.

Then Marcus was pulling away, and Aire dragged in a broken, stuttering breath. “What… was that?!” “A kiss?” “Oh, that was not a fucking kiss, you utter cheating coward, this is a kiss!” Aire lunged forward, caught Marcus’ tie in one hand, the lapels of his jacket in the other, yanked the bouncer close and kissed him like both their lives depended on it.

The half-troll staggered back, caught utterly by surprise. Aire caught Marcus’ lower lip between his teeth and licked it before he went back to kissing the bouncer, felt strong arms come around him, tightening as a rumble like an avalanche rose from the half-troll’s chest. He let go of the tie and ran his hand through the very neat black hair, leaving it a tousled mass, the other clinging to one of the bouncer’s shoulders. One of the arms around him tightened even more; the other rose to cradle his head, fingers playing over the fine, pale blond scruff.

“That’s a kiss,” Aire declared haughtily, gasping for breath, when they finally parted, even if it was just a couple of inches.

“I stand corrected,” Marcus rumbled, his voice a low, guttural, inhuman undertone. He slid a hand up to cradle Aire’s face, brushing his thumb against those kiss-bruised lips. “Let me know if I get it right this time.” They fell into another kiss, less urgent now that they knew where they stood with one another, but no less devouring. Marcus mapped out every inch of Aire’s mouth with his own, teeth grazing delicately over those lips until they were tingling in the most maddening fashion; then the half-troll trailed his mouth down. “Now, about that bite…”

“Watch the glitter,” Aire managed to wheeze. “It doesn’t taste good.” He felt the bouncer laugh under his hands, and a moment later a mouth had fastened at the base of his neck in a slow kiss that made his head loll back; he felt the touch of those sharp, sharp teeth and moaned, fingers digging into Marcus’ shoulders. The pressure increased, a lush and sharp and delicious sting of pain sprouting and growing and tangling up with the pleasure until it was impossible to tell where one began and the other ended, until they were both one and the same. Marcus bit and sucked on the mouthful of skin and flesh he’d secured, and his arms around Aire were tight enough to make it nearly impossible to breathe for a moment. Then he let go, panting slightly, a red light dancing in his eyes. “Think I better let you go, Aire.” He licked his lips. “You taste too good.” “What makes you think I’m letting you go, Marc?” The name distracted the bouncer just long enough for Aire to dart forward and catch onto that mouth with his own, biting at those lips, tasting himself there and feeling goosebumps come up all over his arms. He trailed nipping kisses along the line of the half-troll’s jaw, heard an unearthly sound come from him.

Marcus grabbed his arms. “Aire, I can’t -” But then Aire was running his tongue over the column of the bouncer’s neck, over the jut of his Adam’s apple, along his chin and back to his mouth for a slow, lingering last little kiss before they parted, and a sound somewhere between a snarl and a whine spilled out of the half-troll, words forgotten. “Well, the kissing needs practice,” Aire breathed. “The rest works for me. Hi, Marc, nice to meet you.” The arms around him relaxed, dropped to cradle him close, the half-troll’s smile very bright in the club’s gloom. “Hello, Aire.” He touched his forehead to Aire’s and closed his eyes. “Go dance. Please? Let me watch you be happy.” Aire pulled away slightly, looking very closely at the bouncer. “Is that what you’re doing? Watching me dance?” “Yes.” Marcus’ smile turned a little bit wicked. “And looking at your ass.” “Asshat!”

#Eden #Marcus and Aire #Marcus #Aire #modern fantasy #original writing #writing #modern fantasy writing #profanity

12 notes · View notes

grumpygreenwitch · 11 months

Text

A Tale of Eden 2

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

This whole thing’s already finished, I forgot to say that the first time. It was also written like my usual tumblr writing, seat-of-the-pants, spell-check if you have time, grammar pray for mercy and continuity hang onto your hat. Feel free to send me your opinion on the story itself, on the characters, on the setting, though.

Aire found the next card tucked into one of the pockets of his hoodie, but a surprise visit by the Chantry to the city kept him from using it. Instead he stuck to his usual haunts, to the shadows of the back alleys and the twisting corners where he could disappear in the blink of an eye.

He should have never gone back to Eden, not once he’d been discovered. He was alive because he never repeated himself. Going back twice had been dangerous. Going back a third time had been outright stupid. If the club’s telltales had picked him up, who else might have noticed the power bleeding off him?

But Marcus was there.

After two weeks, dawn found him on the rooftop of a building a whole block away, staring at Eden as gold and rosy sunlight painted the glass and steel of the club and softened every sharp angle. It was the closest he dared come with the mages in the city, and everything in him ached for the dance floor, for the beat of the music, loud enough to be felt in the marrow of his bones, for those brief moments when he felt part of a larger whole. For the touch of those soft brown eyes and the powerful, always-gloved hands, for the flash of that smile under the crooked nose. For the scent of the troll mingled with an unknown half.

“Aire.” The familiar voice snapped him around from where he’d been slouching on the decorative brickwork railing, and there stood Marcus, solid and real, tie undone, shirt unbuttoned, jacket held carelessly over one shoulder. He looked tired, but it was him. A moment later Aire had crashed into the half-troll, clinging to him as if he were water in the desert, staggering him back. “Marcus!” Marcus dropped the jacket and wound his arms around Aire, dragged him close and held him tight, breathing him in, the faintest scent of strawberries and spring rain that clung to the young man, for once untainted by glitter and chalk and their oily undertones. He drew in the deepest breath he could, kissed the short blond scruff, almost white, kissed Aire’s forehead. “Stop teasing!” his sprite all but snarled at him, and claimed the half-troll’s mouth with one of those kisses that erased the world from all of their senses, that left them knowing nothing but the two of them, sight and sound and taste and touch.

Aire’s hands were buried in the half-troll’s hair and Marcus could hear himself growling, a primal response to the heady, overwhelming pleasure. Their tongues were tangled with one another, and when he wasn’t fencing with his mouth Aire was dragging his teeth over the half-troll’s lips, leaving them tingling.

More and more, it was getting hard to remember why he’d followed the half-mage’s scent to the top of that building. “Aire, we can’t -” “More kissing, less talking.” Marcus had to grin into their kiss. He wound his arms even tighter around his sprite, picked him up outright and focused on stealing every last gasp of breath from him, until he felt the lean body melting against him. He trailed his mouth down then, following the path of the life pounding along Aire’s neck, found his favorite spot there and lingered, sharp teeth playing over the pale skin and only just stopping shy of breaking through. Marcus wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself if he drew blood, and he wanted to know exactly where the two of them stood before things got that far.

He lowered Aire down carefully, but kept him close. “Hello, sprite.” “Hello,” Aire croaked.

“Missed me?”

“Pffft, no. Did you?” “Not a bit.” Marcus grinned, then brushed a gloved thumb over Aire’s cheek. The part of him that had been growling hungrily suddenly lulled to a low, soothing purr when the cheeky sprite leaned into that touch, deep blue eyes closing. “The Chantry reps are leaving tonight.” “Did you come looking for me just to tell me that?” “No. I came because waiting for tomorrow was just too damn long.” They kissed again, Aire’s arms resting languidly on the half-troll’s shoulders, one of Marcus’ arms curled around Aire, his other hand cupping the sprite’s face. He sighed. “And now I’m having a wreck of a fight with myself to let you go back to your business.” Aire laughed. It was the first time Marcus had heard the sound, light and musical and fleeting. “What if I make you my business, what then?”

“Is that supposed to be a bad thing?”

Aire sighed and slumped against the half-troll’s broad chest. Only once before, in all his life, had someone sought him out out of caring, out of nothing self-serving or selfish, simply to make sure he was there, alive, alright. He’d forgotten how good it felt. “Would you miss me if I were gone?” The half-troll’s arms tightened immediately around him, and when he looked at him Aire saw red light in the dark brown eyes. “I don’t repeat places, Marc.” He looked up into those unexpectedly handsome, craggy features. “There’s so many people after me. I meant to go once, twice to Eden, but then there you were, and…” Marcus looked stricken. His mouth opened, and Aire lunged to kiss him before any word could tumble out. “No. Don’t you say it, don’t you dare. I chose to come back. Me. Oh… Can’t I come with you?”

Marcus kissed him. Unlike the near-ferocious kiss from Aire, his touch lingered, lips dancing over the half-mage’s, teeth teasing and tongue playing delicately against Aire’s mouth until he was all but writhing in the half-troll’s grip. “If you come with me, Aire, you run a bad risk of being cared for, you know.” “I knew you were too good to be true,” he protested breathlessly. Marcus’ voice had dropped to that low, rumbling register that was not human at all, which Aire felt as much as heard, thrumming against the marrow of his bones like music from the depths of the earth. They were close enough that he felt the half-troll’s smile against his kiss-bruised lips. “I’ll suffer through it. Gives me a chance to steal your gloves.” Marcus burst out laughing at that. “I know the answer’s in your hands.” “It is.”

“So unfair!”

“I’ll tell you if you tell me. Fair trade and all that.” When Aire blew a raspberry at him, Marcus grinned, then grew serious again. “Yes, you can come with me. No, you can’t steal my gloves.” He caught the mageling’s face in one hand. “I don’t know that I can, sprite. But I will at least try to keep you safe. And nothing, nothing happens that you don’t want to happen. Alright?”

“Well, if those are the only rules the possibilities to be decadent are endless,” Aire replied, breathless at how readily, how willingly Marcus gave him the freedom of his choice. “I want… some sleep.” He sagged against the half-troll, the paranoia of the past days crashing down on him and leaving him hollow and lusterless and limp, even though the danger was by no means over. It was hard to think of the Chantry while he was subsumed in those arms. “Oh, wow, do I want some sleep.” Marcus grinned. “In the most amazing stroke of luck, I happen to have a bed.”

“Is there a half-troll asshat in it to keep it warm?” “Every now and again.”

***

Aire woke up in a vast sea of dark gold bedsheets and blankets. The early afternoon sun was a barely seen spill of light on the hardwood floors, limited to the bottom of the heavy curtains that blocked the windows on one side of the bedroom.

He could hear, nearby, the faint sizzling sound of something cooking, and he could smell potatoes and butter. His stomach snarled at him; he protested wordlessly back and burrowed even deeper into the blankets, but it was hard to argue with those scents. Besides, the half-troll’s warmth was fading from the bed, even if his scent clung to the pillow. Aire hugged it close and tried to figure out if he was relieved or disappointed that nothing had happened.

The truth was nothing could have happened. They were both dead tired. Shoes had been kicked off, lights dimmed, and they’d crawled into bed halfway to asleep already. With a low, rumbling growl, Marcus had wrapped an arm around Aire and dragged him close, but all he could remember was tucking himself under the half-troll’s chin and basking in the surprising warmth of the bouncer in the dark, the inhuman scent of him.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so profoundly.

He groaned and sat up, rubbing at his hair. Silver-platter chance to have a look at the man, and he’d squandered it sleeping. Boo. He stood up… and came to a dead stop more or less in the same motion, thoughts completely derailed.

There were clothes on his side of the bed. Brand new, from the look of them. Tee, hoodie, pants. Sneakers, boots. He brushed his fingers over them as lightly as he might touch a sleeping bird.

If you come with me, Aire, you run a bad risk of being cared for, you know.

He had to leave. He had to, before he embroiled Marcus in his problems. Bad enough that the Chantry was in the city. Aire had to leave, had to go before it got worse. Leave town. Move again.

His stomach told him, loudly, that there would be no going anywhere until at least one of them had what it wanted.

Aire dropped to sit on the bed, and found that his feet barely touched the floor. A bed sized to the man that slept on it, indeed.

He couldn’t do this. It was too much like taking advantage of Marcus, taking his hospitality, his protection, his food, and then bailing. But the alternative, that was so much worse.

Food, his stomach growled. He sighed. He got dressed in the new pants, which fit, and the new tee, which was a bit on the large side, and padded out soundlessly on bare feet along the polished hardwood floors.

He could see a vast central area, floor-to-ceiling windows heavily curtained, plants everywhere. A stairwell led up for parts unknown; under the loft stood a kitchen, brightly lit.

Aire licked his lips, the rest of him suddenly as hungry as his stomach.

Marcus was cooking, painstakingly following the instructions a video was providing from his tablet. It wasn’t particularly fancy; there were thinly sliced potatoes on a pan, chicken cutlets on another. There was a bowl of fruit salad set aside, and the half-troll kept stealing the grapes from it. Marcus’ own meal, Aire guessed, was the bowl discreetly covered and set to one side.

He was wearing food gloves, the atrocious creature that he was.

Aire had been drawn in by the sheer force of presence of the ruthless bouncer at Eden, the massive half-troll with the craggy good looks, the impeccable grooming and the custom-fitted suit. He found himself just as taken by the Marcus before him, wearing loose gray slacks and plain brown moccasins, a long-sleeved, loose white shirt and a sleep-tousled look. Aire slipped closer behind him, and wrapped his arms around that broad chest, his fingertips barely touching on the other side. “Morning,” he murmured, hiding his face against the back of Marcus’ neck and willing the world to go away and leave them to one another.

“Afternoon.” There was a smile in the half-troll’s voice.

“All your curtains are closed.” “Troll, sprite.” “Half-troll.”

“Mm, enough of one not to be on friendly terms with sunlight. Do you like potatoes?” “I like food.” Aire stole a piece of honey-drizzled melon from the fruit salad bowl, and offered a grape to Marcus, which was delicately taken from his fingertips. “Those smell amazing, but Marc, I -” The half-troll caugh the fine-boned face of the mageling in one hand, and Aire forgot what he’d been about to say. A thumb brushed so very gently over his lips, and his eyes closed. “Marc.” “Too many enemies?” The half troll brushed the pad of his thumb along the elegant line of Aire’s cheekbone. “What was it you said, more of a fight than any one person can pick up, let alone win? I do, do love me a challenge.”

“I want you safe.” “I want you,” Marcus replied evenly. “Some things are worth the fight, Aire. Even if you lose.”

“You don’t know that I am.”

“My call. It’s made. You are.” The half-troll shrugged easily. “Go ahead, change my mind.” “You’re a troll, I’m not stupid.”

“Half. How do you like your potatoes?”

“Is the other half less stubborn?” “It’s not going to be any help, I can tell you that much.” When Aire scoffed sharply and tried to stalk off, Marcus feared he’d gone too far. He snatched for the mageling’s hand with a swift, sharp motion. “Aire.”

Aire nearly leapt out of his skin.

Marcus recoiled, wounded and confused, yanking his hand away and taking a full step back. “Aire, I would never -” “For the love of little apples, Marc!” Aire threw his hands up and crowded up into the half-troll’s personal space. “Don’t do that. You’re an obligate anthropophage, my monkey brain sees you moving that quickly and starts screeching.”

Aire saw surprise, understanding and chagrin chase one another across those craggy features before a sheepish grin took over that rich mouth. “I think,” Marcus said carefully, “that this is the first time in my life someone’s been so aware of why people jump around me.”

“Short life,” Aire declared acidly, plucking at the front of the half-troll’s shirt. Marcus started laughing. Moving slowly but implacably he wrapped his arms around the leaner man, dragging him close. He huffed when he felt his sprite shivering, but then Aire was clinging tightly to him. “Long enough. Terribly misspent. Trade you, sprite.” “No. Not this. I want you safe, Marc. I need to be away from you for that.” “You may go away,” Marcus agreed, “but that doesn’t mean I’ll stay away.” He pulled back. “I don’t want your secrets. They’re yours. I want you. Stay. Trade you for that.”

“And if they’re horrible secrets? If I’m a monster?” “Do you really want to discuss inhumanity with a troll?”

“Half,” Aire protested bleakly. Everything in him wanted to stay. It wasn’t even Eden. He just wanted Marcus. “If I vanish, you won’t come looking for me. That’s the price.” Marcus frowned, and Aire kissed him fleetingly. “Because if I agree, I will always come back to you. And if I vanish…” He tucked himself close, felt the strength of those arms come around him. “This is a horrible trade.” “I’d have to agree, but I don’t think we mean the same thing.” “Pfft.” Aire pulled back. “No trade, then.” “Oh, absolutely yes trade.”

“No! Don’t burn my potatoes.” He tried to slip away, only to be slowly, carefully reeled back. “Marcus -” he began, wary of the argument he foresaw.

“Tomorrow night,” the half-troll said instead. “Think on it until tomorrow night. You know I’m game for this trade. If you change your mind about not wanting it, tell me tomorrow night, at the club.” “What about tonight?” “Tonight? Tonight you’re staying out of sight, here, or anywhere you choose, until the mages are gone.” “But you’re leaving.” “I do work, Aire.”

Marcus saw the willful mageling freeze.

And then crack. Everything in Aire, every moment of loneliness, every day scraping by, eking out a living, hiding, waiting for the blow that he knew must come simply because he existed, it all broke like a wave that threatened at last to drown him. The breath went out of his lungs as if the burden of fear had punched it out of him. Aire crashed into Marcus’ arms and the half-troll, alarmed, wound himself around his sprite. “Stay with me. Stay tonight. Just, I can’t, I don’t -” “Yes,” Marcus tipped the haunted young man’s face to his, leaned down and kissed him, feather-light, delicate and sure and slow. “If I can give you this one night, free of fear, then of course the answer’s yes.”

“You’re not allowed to be this nice.” “Ah.” Marcus clicked his tongue. “Too late. Besides, I’m only nice to you.”

#Marcus and Aire #marcus #aire #eden #modern fantasy #modern fantasy writing #my writing

12 notes · View notes