Mark/Nine, for theloriengarde on tumblr.
Sometimes, Mark looks back and thinks about his life and his choices, and where they've lead him.
Namely, the narrow, creaky, shitty-motel bed to which he is currently pinned by and angry asian alien, in what started as the fight they've been building up to since Nine introduced himself
(So this is the asshole, huh?)
and which has now taken on an entirely different layer of tension.
"Dude," he says, as he tries and fails not to stare into Nine's dark eyes (which, thankfully, he doesn't seem to notice, probably because he is staring at Mark's mouth). "I think this might be kinda gay."
Nine scoffs. "Psh, nah," he says, and then he kisses him (and tastes like the cigarettes he's tried a few times before), and again, and again, and lingers. "Okay," Nine mumbles, breath ghosting over Mark's jaw. "Okay, maybe just a little," and then words are lost in teeth and tongues and fighting for dominance.
And if there's one thing Mark is thankful for about life on the run, it's that he's learned to always keep the door locked.