WARNING : SMUT!! MINORS DNI!!!!.
"Marc?!" You jumped at the sound of a banged door and turned around. He nods, hair dishevelled, blood on his hands. You quickly put the cap back on the plastic container which holds Gus' food and walk to your boyfriend. Marc flinches when you try to hold his hands, but you're tenacious, and find a way to calm him down. "Let's get you washed up, okay?" Voice mellow, delicate. He nods again, and you take him to the bathroom, turning the tap on. You remove his jacket, his shirt and his jeans, and he looks at you with tired eyes. "You're too good for me, Y/N." Marc sighs as he takes his boxers off. "Too kind." You smile and join him in the shower, lathering his shoulders and back. "We both know that's a lie." You kiss the scars on his arms, your hands working to wash all the blood away. "No, really." Marc turns around and grabs your hands, littering your knuckles with kisses. "Big softie." You giggle as the steam fogs the bathroom mirror. You've seen Marc at his worst, and stuck by his side. You've been his biggest supporter, his partner in crime, his cornerstone, and he can't thank you enough for it. The water turns red, but he looks and feels better already, like he didn't just go on a killing spree. He turns the tap off and helps you out of the tub — such a gentleman — before putting a pair of grey sweatpants on. He walks to the bed and plops on the mattress, face first. God, he feels like he's lying on the softest cloud, and the smell of fresh sheets reminds him of a blooming field. You crawl into bed with him, your silk robe untied and barely covering anything. You want to pull the duvet over him, but he just wants to be held. You gladly oblige and help him up, his back against your chest, both of you naked and quiet, and the only sound is the beating of your hearts.
You don't say a word, don't want to disturb his only moment of peace, so you just comb through his hair with your fingers, your other hand on his chest. Marc holds that hand tightly, like he's afraid that if he lets you go, you'll disappear. You won't, nothing can take you away from him. "I want to give you the world." He suddenly sighs, the invisible burden on his shoulders too heavy to carry. "You already did." You bend down and press your lips on his forehead. Marc shifts his position so that he can look at you, and pulls you into his arms, lips tickling your neck with light kisses, as if he doesn't want to break you. "I just hope he doesn't fuck anything up, like he's used to doing." You scoff at his words. You don't like it when he belittles Steven, he's a part of your relationship as much as Marc is, and Marc needs to learn to share. "You'll fuck up first if you keep that attitude, Spector." You chastise him. Marc presses a kiss on your lips, which you return, but you won't forgive him so easily. His calloused fingertips ghost over your thighs and stop at your knee. "I just don't get what you see in him, he's, well, a loser." Oh, but that loser hears everything. And he's beginning to feel so sick of it — the insults, the mockery, the criticism. Steven had so much shit thrown at him that he's blood is simmering in his veins.
"Marc, don't be a dick." You tilt his chin upwards, but he doesn't want to look you in the eye. "He's a part of you, and the sooner you accept it, the better." "Can't accept a worm." "Alright, that's enough. You're tired and you talk shit." You roll your eyes. "I'll get you a glass of water and we can talk when you're not delusional." Marc doesn't like it when you leave your half of the bed, but he lets you go nonetheless, watching your naked body disappear into the kitchen. You pour the ice-cold water in the tallest glass you can find. "I baked cookies, by the way!" You shout but he doesn't respond. Perhaps he fell asleep. You decide to put a few cookies on a plate anyway, in case he wakes up and is hungry, and walk back to the bedroom. He is definitely not asleep, sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes squinted and glued on your every move, like a lion stalking its prey. You lock eyes with him as you place the glass and plate on his nightstand, not sure what's going on. It's a completely different look in his dark eyes, one that makes your core tingle with anticipation. "Marc?" You approach him and slip between his thighs, cupping his face with your hands. "Marc's on sabbatical." His voice is cold, somewhat aggressive. "Steven?" You're confused. You've never seen Steven so assertive before, but you know it's him because of the accent. He's still slightly hunched, his voice lacking Marc's confidence, but it's the look in his eye, the predatory gaze that concerns you. "You know, Y/N, I'm tired." Steven takes your hand in his, still gentle, still himself. "Of what exactly?" You sit on one of his thighs, resting your head on his shoulder.
