Desirable Tensions °=Damien x Mark=°

✴1✴

"Hey Murray, have you ever thought about installing one of those privacy windows in here?" Damien Thorn said jokingly as he settled into the back of the Thorn family automobile. His cousin Mark scrambled in after him, mumbling about how he'd had to say goodbye to his pesky Aunt Marion.

"I'll mention it to Mr. Thorn," replied Murray good naturedly. "Now you two behave back there."

"We've never been a trouble, have we, Murray?" Damien asked slyly, nudging Mark with his elbow.

"You'll probably never see kids as well behaved as we are, Murray. Dad spends enough money putting us through the academy to learn all that stuff. Trust us, we know."

"So how about that cigarette?" Damien asked.

Murray shook his head. "You never give up."

Damien looked over at Mark, who rolled his eyes dramatically. Neither boy smoked, but Mark knew Damien just had to get under Murray's skin by asking almost every time they were in the car. He seemed to enjoy it.

As the car sped down the gravel path and took a sharp left turn, Mark was pulled toward Damien and reached out to steady himself. His hand came down on top of Damien's and he quickly yanked it back. Damien merely watched his cousin, a curious look in his eye.

"Sorry," said Mark, turning to his window and looking out over the changing landscape. Confusing feelings had begun to grow inside him and he didn't know what to do or who to talk to about them. Deciding the problems would be too embarrassing to reveal, Mark kept things to himself. The family looked to him as stalwart and without troubles, and he wanted to keep up the veneer. It was Damien who'd had the strange and controversial family history; a history that Mark never asked him about and tried to pretend didn't exist. For all of his efforts, Mark was still troubled and Damien oddly enough was the only person who could tell. He'd never confronted Mark with the knowledge, but Mark could see it in Damien's eyes.

"You okay?" asked Damien softly, leaning toward Mark.

Mark turned and looked into Damien's eyes and saw his old and most trusted friend, but also saw a fierce and unnatural beauty. He could not hold Damien's gaze. "I'm fine," he lied.

"You're acting strangely; are you sure you're all right?"

"It's just school and things," Mark replied. "New drill sergeant...you know."

"How are things working out with that guy, anyway?" asked Murray from the front seat.

"You can at least pretend there's privacy glass," Damien snapped.

"As a matter of fact you could use a cigarette," Murray said. He remained silent for the rest of the ride.

"Forget him," said Damien. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I-can't."

"Why not?"

"It's complicated." Mark set his hand down on the black leather seat to steady himself as they took another turn. This time he succeeded in staying on his side of the car. He could feel Damien watching him intently and kept his eyes down.

They rode along in silence for a few minutes, Mark inwardly chastising himself for hinting about his feelings. Now Damien would keep asking and then his secret would be revealed. He'd probably be expelled from the academy if anyone else knew what kind of thoughts swirled around his head. There was no name for them, just feelings that waxed and waned, demanding recognition but not identifying themselves.

A soft touch pulled Mark from his reverie. Damien's hand was next to his on the seat now, and he'd touched his finger with his pinky. Mark held his breath. There, again. Damien's finger moved against Mark's ever so gently, a whisper of a caress. He sat stock-still, waiting.

"Mark," Damien said, a husky, foreign note in his voice that compelled Mark to respond.

"I-I can't," he stammered, but did not move his hand away. He tempted fate but had to play this out.

"Yes you can," Damien said with authority, but it was almost as if he were giving permission rather than an order.

"Not here," Mark whispered, trusting that Damien knew exactly what he meant. What did he mean? Did he mean to explore this further once they were alone? What then? The implication hung in the air between them. For a full minute the two boys were silent and unmoving except for Damien's finger slowly drawing circles on Mark's skin. A shiver ran up Mark's spine and he let out a wavering breath. His heart had begun to race in his chest, a steady, insistent thumping. Damien's touch elicited a response in Mark's body, his face becoming flushed and breathing labored.

The car took a turn and Mark again tried to stay himself.

"Don't fight it," said Damien.

Mark looked at his cousin and saw a frightening sensuality in his eyes. He wanted to take him into his arms, touch him. He recognized longing in Damien, and felt for a moment that perhaps things would be all right after all. Damien understood this madness, shared it.

Nothing could be done without moments alone, and as they drove closer and closer to the school Mark knew he would have a long time to wait before he could spend time with Damien and truly share his secrets. Much too long.

"Damien," said Mark, unsure of just what he wanted to say. "What's wrong with me?"

His cousin tilted his head slightly, as if surprised at the question. The answer came easily; he'd known all along.

"You're in love."