@i-am-not-salinger-blog / i-am-not-salinger-blog.tumblr.com
Marlowe couldn't sit still. When he'd grown tired of tapping his fingers, he switched to bouncing his leg, foot hooked over the metal ring of the barstool he was sitting on. His eyes never actually met the other's. Just focused on the middle of the man's forehead as he continued to speak. "I don't know what would be worse," he muttered, "The overworked zombies or the actual threat of a plague."
“—Hope everyone’s had their fuckin’ fun while I was gone, because that shit stops now.”
The voice makes Marlowe shiver, despite the fact that he's halfway down the hall. He turns on his heel, wincing as pain shoots up his body but he covers the expression with a smirk as he watches Casanova tower over the rest of the people in the hall. Had this been a week ago, before his run in with Bellamy, Marlowe would have been all over the man, but currently, he almost wanted to duck and run the other way. Instead, he presses himself against the wall and waits. He'll make his presence known eventually, he just has to be careful, knowing the second someone brushes against him the wrong way would cause him to panic. As soon as the associate's within earshot, Marlowe hums, "Nova," he starts, not bothering to move from his position on the wall. Cool, Marlowe, real cool. "You're ruining their fun."
Picking at his nail beds absently, he knits his brows together and glances underneath them. His eyes scan the other’s expression at the warning. He’s honestly not sure whether or not that’s an ironic warning or genuine, and he lets out a reluctant, nervous chuckle. “Yeah, no of course, yeah. Makes sense…”
Hissing as he picks too harshly at his skin, he frowns, clenching his fist as he diverts his attention back up. “Guess I’ll have to get used to watching my back, huh?” He mutters under his breath, chewing anxiously at his thumb nail before piping up again. “Whats your favourite animal?”
Marlowe chuckles as he ducks his head and nods, “You will, but don’t worry too much about it. Just...focus on adjusting to the place first. It’s hard. There are days where I still miss home.” he said, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and letting out a heavy sigh through his nose.
Deciding to change the subject, he answers Anderson’s question. “Uhm..I don’t know. I like jellyfish. Is that a lame animal to pick?” he asks, scratching at the bcack of his head.
Francisco scoffed, a small laugh escaping from between his lips, “Damn youths and their party games and cheap alcohol.” He teased with a roll of his eyes, “I’m not 60 you know. I’ve been to college, I’ve played my share of drinking games. Don’t challenge me to a game of quarters, I win every time.”
“Oh really now?” he smirked, rocking back on his heels as he looked at Francisco over the rim of his glass. Once he finished off the last of whatever was in his cup, he set the glass down and lifted an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge I hear? Mm? Think you can beat a young, spry, lad like me,” he chuckled, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth.
“I’m not even sure we could call this a break up…not really.” Because it wasn’t like they were together. Now that he really took a look at what they were. They both cared for the other deeply but in different ways. If Marlowe was just a random fuck Gideon wouldn’t care who he was with when they weren’t together. But Gideon loved his little Icarus, the boy who flew too close to the sun even though it burned. Gideon wanted to fly with him but being away caused the reality of their situation to really sink it. “I’m saying I love you, Marlowe. I always will. And no matter if you ever need me I’m here for you day or night. But…I think we should just take a step back from whatever we are. I think you should do what makes you happy without my feelings holding you back.” He paused and put a kiss to Marlowe’s forehead. Wishing this didn’t feel like another goodbye. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be a better man for you.”
Marlowe froze, eyes narrowing at Gideon’s words. He pulled away, hands held out in front of him as he tried to process everything that had jsut been said to him. “Hold on,” he started, “Hold on, hold on.” The corners of his lips turned down and he took a deep breath, “You’re breaking up-” No, according to Gideon, this couldn’t be considered a break up, “Or wait...you’re....distancing us because you don’t htink you make me happy? Or is that just same lame ass excuse because you’re mad you can’t own me? Of do you just not know the real reason for this? Because you sure as hell don’t get to be the judge of my happiness. You can’t just decide whether or not you’re not enough because you’re unhappy.” God. Marlowe was fucking tired of people telling him how he felt and what was best for him. He shoved his hands in his pockets and stepped even further away, towards the door. “Using my own feelings against me, is bullshit. You don’t want me to get defensive, but you’re allowed to sit there and claim you know if I’m happy or not....fuck off, Gideon.” He reached up and unclasped the chain holding both Gideon’s dog tags and Dmitri’s key, tugging the tags free and shoving the rest of the necklace in his pocket. “Take your fucking tags back. Or I will toss them off the roof.”
Marlowe growled deep in his throat, narrowing his eyes at Bellamy as he ran through every scenario that could happen. He couldn't think straight though, mind bogged down by the panic that was sweeping through him. “No!” He shouted again, clawing at the chain that held his arms together.
"No. No no. Nonononono ," he tugged on the chain, trying to get his wrists loose, but it was useless. The man's hold was too strong and there was absolutely no way for him to snap the metal. That didn't stop him from digging his heels into the ground, forcing Bellamy to at least drag him rather than letting the man take him without fight. "You can't," he muttered, pulling against his bonds, "You cant!"
The voice sent a chill down his spine, body kicking into overdrive as he stumbled through the dark basement. He needed out, needed to put as much distance between him and Bellamy as possible but when he glanced behind him to see just how much, he was caught around the shoulders by a guard. "No. No. Let go of me!" He shouted, body wriggling to get free. "Let me go, let me go ."
“Now now, Mr. Gautier, I’m the one who usually does the fucking,” he said, though now his voice sounded a little bit more strained as he struggled to get control of Marlowe. It wasn’t until they got to the back of the basement, a concrete room with a padlock, that he stopped and shoved the boy inside. “How long do you think we should do this for? A week? Two?”
A response was what Bellamy wanted, anything to get Marlowe to react but in his current state of mind, he couldn’t really think. Fight or flight kicked in and Marlowe wanted out. Rather than answer the asset spit in Bellmay’s face before using all of his strength to shove the man aside. He ran, using the distraction in hopes to gain some sort of upper hand to get away.
“Too true,” Bellamy said, as if he was just remarking on the news. He took the blow to the side with a small sound, and then moved to take hold of the boy’s wrist as well. Finally, the elevator doors opened and Bellamy marched Marlowe through, not stopping at the usual place, but moving through into the dark.
Marlowe’s panic began to set it. He’d been punished before of course, but he’d never been locked in the basement. He’d avoided it, talked his way out of it, or some sort of bribery. He’d never had to endure a weeks worth of torture for something stupid, but then again, he’d never confronted Bellamy MacNamara before. As desperation began to work it’s way over him, Marlowe squirmed even more, trying to break free. He didn’t know what he’d do if he managed to succeed but he would try his hardest until he could no long. “Fuck you,” he snapped, brows furrowed.
Frowning thoughtfully, he ponders what he could actually use around here. Obviously he had everything he needed to survive, so that was off the checklist. Though the name Colt Balor doesn’t ring any bells in his mind, he makes a mental note to try and “casually bump into him”, seeing as the resources would be nice to have in his back pocket.
Letting out a soft chuckle, he shakes his head. “Yeah, no. never. I’m praying I don’t need a shank, honestly. I mean, I’ve never been stabbed but I’m sincerely hoping to keep it that way.” He jokes, giving a half-shrug. “Least I could treat it though.” Best of a losing situation, he supposes.
“I have to admit though, I expected people to be a little more, I’unno, cut throat around here… So yeah. Thanks for being so nice to me, like, right off the bat. It really helps to forget the situation, y’know?” He offers gently, along with a small smile.
Marlowe lifted his eyes and smiled at the other across the table from him, giving a short nod. “Don’t mention it,” he said softly. He wished someone had been nice to him when he’d first arrived. Of course there was Colt, who had always taken care of him and Salinger, but their relationship had taken time to build.
If he could help someone else out for once, he was going to do it.
“People here can be sort of...flip floppy. They’ll be nice one second but throw you under the fucking bus the next so just...be careful, you know. Don’t trust everyone you meet, unless of course it’s me,” He let the corners of his lips tilt up in a smirk, before he moved to rest his elbows on the table in front of him. “I would never lie to you.”
Francisco took the glass, nodding his head graciously, “Oh good!” He joked, “I was feeling especially in a pirate-y mood tonight.” He smirked, picking up his glass, “Oh, are you a competitive drinker yourself? Should I be intimidated? - Salud.” Taping his glass against Marlowe’s.
Marlowe’s brow shot up and he tipped his glass against Francisco’s before chuckling. “I dunno,” he said, bringing the glass to his lips and taking a long swallow from it, “Should you be?” Probably not. Marlowe was tiny and he didn’t have much of a tolerance for alcohol. “I mean, we can have a go if you’d like.” he smirked.
Of course Ezra bought Marlowe a fucking art tablet. He’d asked Marlowe what the boy wanted in the middle of a massacre, the boy’s breath coming through Ezra’s cellphone in ragged waves, uneven like his precious heartbeat. Marlowe told him about two mothers in Canada, artist and lawyer, (the lawyer was the pushover, ironically). Marlowe told him to goddamn educate himself on long qt syndrome, like omg Mr Carson, so ignorant. Marlowe hid and crawled and ducked and crept exactly as Ezra instructed, and relied on Ezra to be his eyes and a supply cache and a safety line, despite how useless Ezra knew he truly was.
How could Ezra not get him that fucking art tablet? And the key card, and the money (eventually) and….
…and now Ezra took it all out on Marlowe. Nothing was free, they both knew that. Ezra considered Marlowe a willing if recalcitrant participant in the payback. Ezra needed an outlet - and he chose Marlowe.
“The worst indeed. I bring out what you excel at, sweetheart. I’m encouraging you to excel, hm?” Ezra paused to savor the feel of Marlowe’s hand curled around his neck, the way the boy twisted fluidly to keep his ass exposed but still stare defiantly at Ezra. More smacks followed, Marlowe’s ass quivering and going from a taut pink to a satisfying, melted red. Hand marks, right down to the shape of Ezra’s fingers, marked the rounded pale surface, and Ezra hummed at beautiful sight of his work.
Marlowe wouldn’t start crying from the sting, Ezra knew that. Marlowe seemed to love pushing Ezra to his limits. Ezra encouraged it, using the lube to finger fuck him instead, two wet and insistent fingers stretching the boy out.
“Maybe my standards are too low,” Ezra replied, sounding like he was pondering a philosophical reassessment with his fingers ploughing up to the knuckle inside Marlowe’s ass. He looked down at Marlowe - his flush cheeks and hooded eyes, and Ezra caressed that floofy hair of his. “You’re right, darling. I need to know what exactly I’m sugaring up. I don’t want to waste my time on some silly chit who’ll buckle at the slightest threat, hm? I want someone who can take it all.”
Slicked up pinky and thumb spreading Marlowe’s ass-cheeks apart, Ezra added a third finger inside the boy, and slowly fanned them out. “You still want more? I know what I want,” Ezra murmured, entranced by Marlowe’s face, as always.
Every blow to the skin of his ass felt even better than the last, and Marlowe was positive that he wasn’t ready for it to end yet. Each smacked earned Ezra a soft intake of breath, followed by the boy’s thin fingers tensing on his shoulders.
How badly had Marlowe needed this?
How badly had Ezra needed this?
Both it seemed, were in desperate need of a release and what better way than to use each other to reach that peak. They’d experienced similar stress during that week long fight, similar and yet vastly different, but Marlowe knew that he was alive because of the man underneath him. Knew that Ezra had saved his life more than once during the arena and Marlowe owed him every bit of thanks for it. Of course, that didn’t mean he’d give it easily, if at all.
Their dynamic worked for the both of them, the give and take that only they could manage. It was mostly Marlowe taking, wiggling his way underneath the man’s skin until he got what he wanted but then again, Ezra did the same. He knew how to make Marlowe bend, how to make him bark and scream. He knew what buttons to push just like Marlowe did for him. It’s why they worked, how they functioned so well together and maybe, once they were finished here of course, Ezra could better Marlowe.
He could teach him how to be better.
Maybe.
“I mean, do you even have standards?” he teased, words choked out after a harsh spank. “Am I good enough for you, Mr. Carson? Am I worth your time?” He groaned letting his head fall forward as he felt those fingers push against his entrance, easing their way inside. Of course he wanted more, wanted every little bit he could take from Ezra.
“I guess it’s a good thing you don’t scare me, baby,” he smirked, swallowing a moan as he sank his teeth into his bottom lip. “More,” he breathed. “What do you want?”
“Too true,” Bellamy agreed with a small nod. “There is no real fun in settling, is there?”
The elevator doors parted and a few startled people stared. Bellamy paused, not taking his hand off of the back of the boy’s head as he looked and waited for someone to get on or go the hell away. When they decided it was a safe bet to wait for the next lift, the doors closed again and continued to carry them down to the basement. “How long do you think till anyone notices you’re gone, Mr. Gautier? You skip from bed to bed so often, is everyone just going to assume you’re with someone else?”
Marlowe continued to struggle, closing his eyes and trying to turn his face away from the people who’d seem them. God what was he thinking? He wasn’t, and that was the problem and now that he was in the worst possible situation, he didn’t know how to get out of it. Bellamy wasn’t like the men Marlowe usually sassed, he wasn’t pliant and easy to seduce and Marlowe was positive that he wouldn’t have even tried if that had been an option. He wanted to make Bellamy suffer like they had, wanted to show him what it was like to have everything taken from him.
“If they don’t notice me gone in normal circumstances, sir, then why would they notice me missing now? This shouldn’t be any different.” he said, snapping his jaw shut and swinging his elbow behind him in hopes of hitting the man’s side.
Marlowe's confidence wavered just a tiny bit, unsure whether or not Salinger would actually stop. It was true at one point, but Sal had grown up quite a bit since their arrival, but he wasn't about to question his brother's loyalty. He was broken out of his train of thought by a sharp pain though and Marlowe cried out, bringing his hands up to cover his face.
As if the punch hadn't been disorienting enough, he was being dragged off and the only instinct he had was to try to escape, even though he was positive that his nose was broken and the pain was worse than anything he'd experienced so far.
Shit.
He knew the chances of getting out of this unscathed were slim to none, but that didn't stop him from squirming, from wriggling to try and get out of the man's grasp. When that didn't work, he panicked, heart hammering heavy in his chest. Before he could really stop himself he moved, taking a few quick steps forward before hauling back and slamming his own fist into Bellamy's cheek. "Let go of me," he growled.
The painter had the audacity to laugh, though the sound lacked any sort of humor in it. His dark eyes landed on Bellamy's face and he tilted his head to the side, shrugging his thin shoulders up. "You feed off of our energy, our pain, you work us dry and then throw us to the wolves when shit isn't going your way. You take and take and take, so yes, sir, I do believe that you're the leech in this equation." He huffed out a breath and rolled his eyes, shoving his hands into his pockets and stepping backwards. "But you know what, you keep doing you, because shit, it's working isn't it? You get to sit up there with with a pretty boy warming your cock, unconcerned for everyone else's well being. If they aren't your favorite, if they aren't sucking your balls at night they don't matter."
The asset didn't even care that he'd warranted no response from the man in front of him. He stood there, glaring at him as he continued to speak, body shaking with frustration as he stepped closer, pointing a finger at Bellamy's chest. "You're fucked up," he said, shaking his head, frowning, "You know that right?" Of course Bellamy knew that. It wasn't like this was a new revelation and Marlowe had always known the men who'd taken his brother and him were messed up, this was a whole new ballpark for him.
"You just don't care, do you? You rip people out of their homes, take people from their families without a second thought and you just...you don't even blink. You get to sit in your fucking...cushy suite and your cushy office and you hide behind your God damn body guards and your fucking cameras. You're a leech Mr. MacNamara and suck us all fucking dry."
