Work Text:
1.
Texas.
He expected..... More.
Longhorns. Cowboy hats. Something.
Really, it looks like everywhere else this far south. Fields of grass, the occasional town. They haven’t made it far in enough to find any cities, though he knows Texas has big ones.
The mid-day sun glares off the windshield, heating the inside of the van even through the blasting AC. They pass a weeping willow tree with branches so long they brush the roof of the car.
Mark is asleep in the passenger seat, the empty paper bag of fast food in his lap soaking grease into his sweatpants with every bump in the road.
They’ve gotta find something better for dinner.
“Barbecue! We’re finally in a state with good barbecue.”
Mark puts his phone down on the side table between the two beds, looking up at him excitedly. “Ooh, did you get-”
“Cornbread? Obviously, I have met you.” Damien ordered extra- not like they’d get his order wrong, but he had to make sure.
“Yessss.” Mark grabs the takeout containers from Damien and opens them up on the motel bed, taking a deep breath. “Oh man, this smells amazing.”
“Don’t say I never did anything for you,” Damien replies, all crooked grins and relaxed posture. And really, why would he? Free food and board, nursing him back to health. He’s his knight in shining armor.
“Mark-”
Mark is yelling now, his voice spiralling out and up as he waves his hands. Something’s wrong. His wants are all over the place. He's angry , angrier than he's ever been, and he wants Damien to be quiet, to yell back, to take him home, to keep him there, to let him loose, to take control again.
But he can't, not this time. The threads of his power are winding and slippery, he can't get a grasp on Mark, on himself, on anything.
Mark puts his hands on his chest and pushes .
And he sits up in the driver's seat.
2.
“Barbecue! We're finally in a state with good... barbecue.” Damien furrows his brow.
“You didn’t forget the cornbread, did you?” Mark asks, teasing.
“No, no, I... I got extra.” He clears his throat, voice returning to its usual swagger. “I have met you.”
“Yessss.” Mark opens the takeout containers, sitting cross-legged on one of the motel beds.
“Mark, just calm down-” It’s happening again.
What’s happening again?
I’ve been here before.
“Mark, I promise I’m not lying about Sam but you need to calm down, something’s not right-”
He’s said this. Something’s about to happen, and he can’t stop it. His power is haywire. He can’t get a grip on anything.
“Mark, please, just sit-”
“Don’t touch me!”
3.
Damien gasps, sitting up in the driver’s seat, like he had fallen asleep. The car almost swerves before he has a handle on his surroundings, but he tightens his hands on the wheel.
Mark snores in the seat next to him.
The AC blares through the vents.
A weeping willow passes over the roof of the car.
Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
6.
“-Calling her Dr. Bryant was just too damn stuffy.” Damien pronounces every word carefully. He won’t fuck it up this time.
Mark looks at him, eyes dark. “What about Dr. Bright?”
“What, your girl Sam’s doctor?” He tries not to sweat under his gaze, putting another bite of shredded gristle in his mouth. It hurts to swallow down.
“Do you think I’m a complete idiot?” Mark starts, and Damien knows he’s lost. “I know I’ve been a bit slow - I mean, I have been recovering from two years spent horizontal and unconscious - but I haven’t completely lost my ability for critical thinking.”
“Mark-”
9.
Mark leans back against the headboard of his bed. His stomach growls. “What are we doing for dinner?”
“I’m not hungry.” Damien turns on the tv, desperately hoping that will be the end of it.
“Well, I am. Can we go get something?”
“No.”
“Are you serious? Why not?”
“Cause I said so.” Cause bad things happen when we do.
Damien feels the threads of his power reach out for Mark, sink into his brain. Please stop asking. I don’t want you to ask. You don’t want to ask.
“Are you trying to use your power to make me not hungry? What the hell?”
Damien feels that unfamiliar-familiar tug on the threads of his power. A pull he had never felt before, until this... hell began.
“This is a new low for you! Making me stay, okay, I get you have some weird piss-off against my sister, but this is a violation of, like, my basic bodily autonomy!”
“It’s one night, Mark! If we can get through this, it’ll fix itself! We’ll get out of this alive, and then I’ll get you whatever you want!” Damien slams the power button on the TV remote and the room is plunged into silence.
“Like you’ve ever cared about what I want! Do you even remember what I asked for two and a half months ago? One of the only requests I’ve ever made-”
“A camera.”
“A- What?”
“You wanted me to get you a camera. But I said no, because I don’t want my picture taken-”
“Which I never said I was going to do-” “Which you never said you were going to do-”
“But because there was the slightest chance of inconvenience for me, I didn’t do it.” Damien recites, droning.
“Uh... yeah.” Mark blinks at him, tirade thrown off its tracks. The tight tangle of Damien’s power recedes back into him. “I didn’t think you remembered.”
Is this it? Did I do it right?
“You start to pick things up after a while.”
“Damien, what’s going on?”
He barks out a bitter laugh, “God, if I knew, do you think we’d have been stuck like this?”
“ We? You can leave whenever you want! I’m the one who’s stuck here! Jeez, this is exactly like the AM-”
“Stop! Mark, I’m fuckin’ begging you, man.” Damien runs a hand through his greasy hair, frantic. “Don’t say anything else. We can get through this.”
Midnight. It’s gotta be midnight. He glances at the clock on the nightstand. 9:26.
Mark is quiet for a moment.
It isn’t until he feels him fighting- the return of that frustrating, yanking feeling in his brain- that Damien realizes Mark’s only quiet because he’s forcing him to be. And by then it’s too late.
15.
“I want you to have not kidnapped me and screwed over my sister and tried to make me think I fell for an imaginary woman and then lied about all of it! Can you do anything about that?”
“I’m sorry! Is that what you want me to say? That I’m sorry and I feel so bad ?”
“Not if you don’t mean it!”
Damien wants to tear his hair out. He is sorry. He’s sorry he’s stuck here, and he’s sorry he’s fucked himself over so severely by getting involved with Mark, and if he could take it back, he would , but it’s too late for that.
“God, you can’t just expect everything to be fixed because you said the magic word! You whisked me away from the one chance I had at freedom and trapped me with you instead! I’m tired of being a hostage!”
He stands and Damien takes a step back, knees hitting the edge of the bed. Mark closes in.
“Mark-”
“Damien, if you don’t shut up and start listening to me and what I want, I swear- you need to start telling me one hundred percent of the truth, or I will knock you out and drag you home by your shoelaces!”
“Mark, please, just sit-”
“Don’t touch me!”
20.
Damien jerks up in the driver’s seat.
He can’t do this anymore.
That’s all he can think.
He can’t do this anymore.
“Mark” He pulls over on the side of the road, just under the shade of the weeping willow. “Wake up.”
Damien grabs his shoulder, and Mark sits up groggily, rubbing his eyes. Any other day, Damien would revel in the sleep-soft version of the man in front of him. Any other day, he would revel. Any other day. “Wh- Where are we?”
“It doesn’t matter. Get out.”
A car drives by, shaking the rough road.
He’s so close. His hands shake on the wheel. It’ll end soon.
As soon as Mark gets out of the car.
“What’s going on?”
“You need to stretch your legs,” Damien reminds him, the lie rolling off his tongue.
“In the middle of the road?”
“Get out , Mark.” He pushes the want further than himself, into Mark’s mind. It’s not steady, the want already pathetically desperate, but it’s the best he can do aside from literally opening the door for Mark and pushing him out.
Mark has his eyes trained on Damien, a small wrinkle settling between his brows as he gets out of the car.
Damien takes a deep breath. And another. He puts the car into drive. There’s another car coming. He’s seen it pass him a thousand times. There’s plush dice hanging from the rearview.
The car pushes forward, his foot pressing on the gas. Faster. Faster. He sees Mark chasing after him in his own mirrors, a triple view of waving arms and his shouting face.
Damien closes his eyes and pulls into the opposite lane.
A tugging at his brain. A roaring car horn and the squeal of tires.
21.
He sits up in the driver’s seat and tries again.
23.
Mark has to be the one doing it. Something is going haywire with his power, and it’s set Damien in an endless loop of torture.
Maybe he’s doing it on purpose.
Maybe this is his penance.
Despite that thought, he can’t make himself kill Mark along with him.
He just has to drive faster. Get as far as he can from Mark so that his power can’t reach him.
Leaving him on the side of the road is better than killing him, he tries to reason. He can still survive that way. Hitch-hiking isn’t hard.
Faster. Floor it. Get away from him. He can make it.
30.
He doesn’t make it.
No matter what, he can’t get far enough fast enough.
Mark hooks his claws into his brain and saves him every time.
Saves him. Yeah, right.
Saving him would get him out of this hell, even if that meant killing him.
He’s over it. Mark doesn’t want him. He’s got no one else but distant memories left in California and burnt bridges with Doctor B.
There’s nothing left for him but the repeating argument, reminding him that he has endlessly fucked up every relationship he’s ever had, including the one he thought would be the first to encourage him to change.
When Mark pushes him this time, he doesn’t fight it.
33.
“You ever get that feeling... like you’ve lived something before?”
“What, like, deja vu?” Mark asks. Damien doesn’t lift his head from the pillow where he’s plastered himself since getting inside the hotel room.
“Yeah. But more... real. Like groundhog day.”
“Every day in the AM was like that. Wake up, get blood drawn, do tests, meet a different atypical, use their powers, more tests, more blood, more drugs. Different faces, same day.”
“I know.”
“You know? You don’t know shit. The only shit you know is the shit you’ve pulled out of me. ”
“Okay,” Damien nods and rolls over, back to Mark. He doesn’t like to sleep in front of Mark- He always tries to wake up before him and make himself presentable from whatever sweat and nightmares had done to him in the dark- but maybe he could make an exception. It’s not like he’d remember by the next loop.
His brain is spiralling. What’s the point? He can’t get out. The day itself is cursed. No matter what he says, something will reset it all. He could tell Mark, but he’ll forget when it loops again.
“What?”
“I said okay.”
“Yeah, I heard you. What do you- what do you mean by okay ? You aren’t going to defend yourself or... get mad?”
“No.”
“Who are you and what did you do with Damien?”
“Very funny.”
“Yeah, I’m not laughing. What’s gotten into you? You’re- You’re kind of freaking me out.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. It won’t change anything.”
“How long were you in therapy with my sister? I mean, I know you aren’t exactly a fountain of information about yourself, but you have to know talking things out helps at least a little. That’s what you keep telling me. ”
Fine.
“...The same day keeps happening over and over.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. We haven’t done anything but drive, eat, and sleep in shitty motel rooms for 2 and a half months. Whose fault is that?”
“You don’t get it.”
“What’s there to get?”
Damien sits up. “The same day literally keeps happening over and over. The drive here, I see the same tree every time. We get here, I get us food, we have the same argument, and... something happens. I don’t know what it is. But it resets everything.”
He expects Mark to get mad. Accuse him of lying, of gaslighting him, to return to the exact same conversation that they’ve had what feels like 100 times, and sink his fingers into his brain and do whatever it is that resets this hell he’s in.
“You didn’t get us food today.”
Damien sighs. “It doesn’t matter. What I do doesn’t matter.”
“Okay. Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that I believe you. That you are stuck in some kind of fucked-up groundhog day situation where the same day keeps repeating. When does it reset? Midnight?”
“It changes. I’ve never made it to midnight without looping before.”
“Okay. Let’s make it to midnight.”
Damien sets rules.
“You can’t talk about the AM.” “Thank god-” “You can’t talk about your sister, either. Or me. Honestly, if you can avoid talking at all, do it.”
Mark frowns.
“You can’t get mad. At me, at anything. Every time we argue, it loops.”
“What, you think the universe wants me to forgive you for kidnapping me? ” Mark asks, offended.
“I don’t know! I don’t know if it even is the universe! Maybe it’s some atypical we’re in proximity to. There’s time travelers, right? Who’s to say there’s not someone who can do this?”
“What motive would they have for trapping you in a timeloop?”
“I don’t know. You tell me, Mark.”
“Oh, so it’s my fault?”
“This is what I’m talking about! We can’t talk without arguing. So we can’t talk.”
Mark makes it about 5 minutes of silence before he opens his mouth again.
“So.. what do we do instead?”
Damien groans and puts a pillow over his head.
“We’re seriously not getting food?”
“We can get some after midnight.”
Mark wants to argue, Damien can feel it.
“I promise, Mark.”
“Can we at least do something besides sit here in silence?”
Damien sighs and sits up, pillow falling to the side. “I’m going to take a shower. Entertain yourself.”
Damien knows he’ll be gross again if it resets tonight, but this will at least give him a chance for privacy and space from Mark for the time being.
He washes his hair quickly, scrubbing the suds of the motel’s soap through his tangled curls. He hadn’t brought a hair brush with him, and didn’t see the point of stealing one when his fingers worked perfectly fine. The soap had some kind of floral scent, something intended to be neutral but that still came across as girly to him.
As he washed his body, he shivered, even under the warm spray of water. He wasn’t in the habit of jerking off, especially not around Mark, but it would be a way to kill time.
His hands drift lower.
He’d never been able to shake the guilt and shame that comes with the action, even as an adult, but the release... It felt good. For a short while.
His hands tease his folds. Just rub one out, real fast. Mark won’t know.
He circles his clit with his first two fingers, biting his lip to stifle any noise that threatens his throat as he starts touching himself in earnest. His mind wanders. Mark, in the shower with him. He’s seen him naked, mostly early on in the trip when he had to help him into the bath. He’s gained weight since then, lost the gauntness of his features and healed up most of what damage he sustained while comatose. He knows he runs warm.
So that’s what he pictures. He heats his hand under the stream and presses it to himself again. Mark, there with him, body as warm as the steam filling the room.
Mark standing over his shoulder, one hand on his waist and the other rubbing at his clit. Damien throws his head back against the tiled wall, pretending it’s the soft pressure of Mark’s shoulder instead.
Would he fuck him? Fuck, he’d let him. He’d rock into him from behind, like he couldn’t bear to look at his face while he did it.
Shit. Maybe he’d whisper in his ear. Grit his teeth, ask him Is this what you wanted? All this time, all that talk about companionship, and you’d settle for just my cock inside you.
God, yeah.
He slips two fingers inside himself, eased by his own slick, and has to bite the meat of his palm instead to muffle the whimper he lets out. His thumb continues toying with his clit while he pumps his fingers in and out, and he can feel his walls clench every time he glances across his g-spot, the angle not quite right to properly hit it. Fuck, he’d give anything.
There’s a sudden knock at the bathroom door, and Damien rips his hands away from himself so fast he loses his balance. He grabs a fistfull of the shower curtain as he slips, tearing it off its hooks and slowing his fall none. He lands on his ass, banging his head on the tile wall, and for a moment he thinks thank god, I’m finally going to die until he realizes he’s still awake. In fact, not only is he awake, he’s naked, half-aroused, and Mark is still banging on the door.
“Damien, are you okay?!”
“Don’t- don’t come in,” he tries to yell, but he’s still reeling and it comes out as more of a wheeze. He tries pushing out his power instead, and all he feels is Mark pushing back.
Before the loop resets, he thinks this is so fucking stupid.
37.
He has to assume he went wrong by jerking off in the shower. Because, really, why would the universe give him any kind of release?
That is a problem, though, he discovers. Because now that he’s had that fantasy of Mark, he can’t get it out of his head. Every time they argue, Damien pictures Mark shoving him, backing him into the bed. Maybe he kisses him, maybe he can’t stand the thought and avoids his mouth as Damien chases his lips. Maybe he bites instead.
Damien finds his thoughts drifting on the drive to the motel, when it’s mostly safe to think of what he wants while Mark’s asleep. No chance of influencing him like that. Well, he hopes not.
He’s allowed himself to picture the breadth of what his imagination will allow- Mark fucking him, bending him over the bed and shoving his face into the stiff mattress so he can barely breathe. Damien getting on his knees for Mark, sucking him off while he pushes into his throat. Mark taunting him as he shoves his fingers into his cunt.
He tries not to picture anything soft, anything gentle, anything that would be out of character for Mark’s angry disposition on this day of all summer days. Even though he remembers what Mark looks like when he first wakes up, soft and warm with blanket-lines on his face, what he looks like when he smiles and laughs at ridiculous road signs, eyes crinkling in the low light.
He knows what it’s like to be around Mark when he’s happy, and he can’t help but want that too.
To know what it’s like to hold him when he’s not having a nightmare. To know what his lips feel like on his own. To maybe fuck while looking into each other’s eyes.
God, he’s pathetic.
40.
“Robert,” Damien says, reciting his lines like he's supposed to. He doesn’t really have to memorize them- somehow during the loops, he’s able to slot himself into the conversations without thinking. Like the universe is waiting for him to slip into familiarity and forget trying to escape.
“What?”
“You wanted to know my real name? Robert.”
It's as close to the truth as he'll get. His legal name was changed to match his father's when he was a kid, after he had first expressed distaste at the... girl thing. Even now, he doesn't know if his power was working when he asked his parents to change it, or if that was something they would have done normally. It's hard to reconcile that idea with them leaving him stranded in the middle of Nebraska for a power beyond his control.
He knows he passes well, puberty blockers and testosterone gel stolen from pharmacies at a young age had helped immensely in that regard, and until he had a reason to come out in proper terms to Mark, he felt no need to put it to words. That being said, he had a feeling Mark knew. There are only so many times you can refuse to change clothes in the same room before people catch on.
“Oh. As in, Rob? Or Bob?” He says with a chuckle. “Or do you go by the full thing?”
Damien waves his hand, “Just keep calling me Damien.”
“Okay.”
He knows what not to say here. He’s said the wrong thing so many times, he might as well have it engraved in his grey matter.
The problem is he doesn’t know what the right thing to say is.
The other problem is Mark is sitting a foot from him on the other bed and all he can think about is how much he wants to kiss away the pensive frown on his lips.
When Mark kisses him, Damien freezes. He doesn’t have a chance to stop him before he’s crossed the distance and pressed his lips to his own, so it’s all he can do to sit still and try not to encourage it.
But fuck, he’s never been good at controlling his wants.
Mark kisses him harder, and Damien opens his mouth on a gasp, letting Mark in to lick at his lower lip. He climbs into his lap and Damien has to brace himself on the bed to prevent himself from being bowled over, his hand landing in the open takeout box of barbecue.
“Fuck, that’s hot-” Damien exclaims, and Mark moans into his mouth.
Damien moans back, feeling Mark’s weight settle over his hips, and he reaches up to cradle his face, ignoring the smear of barbecue sauce between their skin.
“You’re so bad at this,” Mark says, nipping at his jaw.
“Sorry.”
“Shut up.”
His want spirals. What started out as a kiss only grows more desperate, more needy. Damien wants more of Mark, as much as he’ll give him before the loop resets and he’s stuck with his fantasies again. He kisses him like he needs his air to breathe. He paws at Mark’s shirt, sliding his hands underneath it and over his back, absorbing his body heat like it’ll melt away his anxieties.
“You’re getting barbecue sauce everywhere,” Mark laughs as he pulls off his shirt, and Damien purposefully slides his hands over his chest so he can lean down and lick the mess away. “Now you’re getting it.”
Damien warms at the praise, face heating. He’s already wet in his boxers, head swimming from Mark kissing him dizzy, and he can see the outline of Mark’s dick in his sweatpants.
“God, please fuck me.”
“I didn’t know you even knew the word please,” Mark teases, finally getting up from Damien’s lap so he can shuck his sweatpants and boxers.
“I'm not saying it again,” Damien scowls, but works on removing his own jeans and underwear, tossing them off the bed and to the floor. He scoots back, propping himself up on the pillows as Mark crawls back over him. He leans down and kisses him slowly to relax him as he grips his shaft and rubs against Damien's folds, slicking himself.
“Shit, condom,” Mark says, pulling back at the last second.
“It doesn't matter,” Damien growls and grips a hand in Mark's hair, tugging him close again. “ Fuck me, Bryant. ”
“ Shit, ” Mark says again, and pushes in.
His cock is bigger than anything Damien's had before, and he squeezes his eyes shut at the slow stretch of Mark pressing into him. At least he’s wet enough it doesn’t really hurt. It's weird, but good. Mark hovering over him, around him, in him, it's all he wants.
Damien shifts in his place on the bed, trying to adjust to the feeling, and when he opens his eyes, all he sees is Mark’s dark eyes staring right back. His long hair curtains the two of them from the rest of the room, trapping them in their own little pocket of time.
They breathe for a second, air trapped between the two of their mouths, then Mark starts moving.
Damien hadn’t realized Mark had been fully seated- the first press felt infinite- but now he’s slowly thrusting in and out and the feeling of him brushing his g-spot is sending sparks along his spine.
“Fuck, right there,” Damien lifts his knee, wrapping a leg around Mark’s hip and encouraging him to hit the spot again.
Mark curses and thrusts in harder, “God, you don’t know what you do to me.”
Damien moans as Mark hits his g-spot dead-on, then covers his mouth with his hand to muffle himself. The rocking of the headboard against the wall will get them enough complaints, the neighbors don’t need to hear what Damien sounds like when he’s getting railed.
Mark, however, does. He pulls Damien’s hand away from his face and intertwines their fingers, holding them down to the pillow by Damien’s head. Damien bites his lip but it does little to dampen his whines as Mark continues driving into his cunt.
“I wanna hear you lose control,” Mark says, almost mean in his tone.
Damien clenches around him, feeling himself nearer and nearer to orgasm the longer Mark’s hips slap against his own. His face flames as he hears himself whimper at the onslaught, tossing his head back into the pillows like he could escape it.
He reaches down to toy with his clit, circling it with his fingers. “Christ, Mark-”
“C’mon, come for me. ”
It’s more than a request, it’s a demand, one that digs its fingers into his brain until he feels himself topple headfirst into orgasm.
And he opens his eyes in the driver’s seat.
41.
“Fuck!” He slams his hand on the steering wheel, jolting Mark awake next to him.
“Wha..? Damien?”
“Go back to sleep, boy scout,” he grits his teeth. Can’t even enjoy a fucking orgasm without the loop resetting. What fresh hell is this?
Stupid fucking tree.
Stupid bag of fast food.
Stupid passing car with fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview.
He debates swerving the wheel, killing them both. It might work, but it might not.
“Are you okay?” Mark asks, sitting up.
“Peachy.”
“Didn’t take you for the road rage type,” he yawns as he stretches his arms over his head.
“You see any cars out here to rage at?”
“So what’s the problem?”
Damien rolls the idea of telling him about the loop again around in his head. Couldn’t hurt, he guesses.
Okay, Damien thinks, staring out the windshield in sullen silence, it could hurt a little bit.
“Do you really think I'm that gullible? That I'll just believe whatever you say because you want me to?”
“I'm not lying!”
“You've been lying to me since we first met! Why should I believe you now?”
Damien flexes his fingers on the wheel. Turning the wrong way into traffic feels more and more appealing as the miles pass.
“Fine. Don't believe me. I don't care.”
“Yes, you do. What I don't get is why.”
“Cause I care about you!”
Mark laughs. Mark laughs right in his face.
When they make it to the motel, Damien slams the car door shut and Mark follows quietly as he persuades the front desk to give him the key to their room.
The hallways are barren except for flickery lighting and horribly patterned carpet.
“Sorry, Damien. I didn’t mean to... make fun. That wasn’t cool.”
“Mm.”
“I know this... companionship thing is new for you. You were actually honest for once about how you felt, and I threw it back in your face. I shouldn’t have.”
“Mm.”
“God, can you at least say something?”
Damien stops outside their door and unlocks it. It’s an old-school metal key with a hanging tag, rather than the electronic card locks they’ve come across so frequently on the road. It feels familiar in his hand.
“I’m over it, Mark. Just move on.”
Mark huffs, pushing past him into the room and immediately flopping down on the bed furthest from the door. Damien’s made enough of a point about being closer to it in the past- being the “first line of defense” if they get caught- that he doesn’t think about it anymore. But Damien does. He thinks of all the ways he’s tried to show him he cares.
Sure, it’s no camera, but he gets him food and snacks he likes. He lets him adjust the AC to whatever he wants. He lets him fiddle with the radio stations, even if he can never settle on just one thing to listen to.
He helped him bathe in the dark when he couldn’t stand to see his own withered body. He held him when he cried from nightmares in the middle of the night, even if he was back in his own bed before he could wake properly and realize.
He walked into the AM alone, and carried Mark out in his arms.
“We have some time to kill before dinner,” Mark says, interrupting his thoughts.
“Great.”
“Wanna play cards?”
“Not particularly.” Damien puts their single bag of belongings on the desk in the corner of the room. It’s not much, mostly clothes and toiletries, but it’s theirs.
“Damien, I said sorry.”
“And I said to move on.” He sits down on the edge of the bed, facing away from Mark.
Damien hears Mark get up and move to sit next to him on the bed.
“Will you look at me?”
Damien waits a moment just to prove a point, then looks at Mark. He’s close, really close. He looks down at his lips.
Fuck it.
This time, Damien kisses Mark first. It’s clumsy, he’s unsure of what to do with his mouth or hands, but Mark guides him through it gently until they find a stable rhythm.
“You’re such a prick,” Mark breathes as Damien nips at his lower lip, “I thought you were mad at me.”
“I am.”
“Then let me make it up to you.”
Mark maneuvers Damien onto his back against the pillows, leaning down to kiss him breathless. He reaches for the button of Damien’s jeans.
Damien puts his hand over Mark’s, heart pounding. “...Are you sure you want this?”
Mark nods, “I can tell when you’re influencing me, Damien. This isn’t that.”
Damien feels a knot come loose in his chest, “Okay.”
He raises his hips to help Mark pull his jeans off, tossing them to the side with his boxers soon following. Mark situates himself between Damien’s legs, running his hands down his thighs reverently. He clearly hadn’t expected... this.
Damien squirms under Mark’s gaze, “Stop staring.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Mark smiles, that rakish, crooked grin he wears so well, and ducks his head to leave a kiss on Damien’s hip. He leaves another, then another, and more until they devolve into open-mouthed bites along the indent his jeans left on his hips.
“ Please, Mark.”
“Didn’t even know you knew that word.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, rolling his eyes.
Finally, Mark flattens his tongue and licks a stripe between Damien’s folds, snickering when Damien’s leg involuntarily kicks.
He’s never felt anything like it before, fingers don’t compare. His tongue is hot and wet, almost slippery against his own slick as he starts to eat him out in earnest. He alternates between swirling his tongue around his clit and spreading him with his fingers so he can lick inside him.
He already knew he’d be loud, but it’s when Mark seals his mouth around him and sucks that Damien practically shouts.
“Oh fuck, Mark!”
“That’s right. You’re doin’ so good, just lay back,” he whispers against his thigh and Damien can literally feel himself grow wetter at the words.
Mark sucks hard on his folds, still toying with his clit with his tongue, when his first two fingers come up and slowly press into his hole. Damien wraps a hand around the headboard of the bed, bearing his hips down to grind against Mark’s face and fingers.
“Ah, god-” Damien looks down at Mark and has to instantly look away lest his orgasm come on too fast. He’s got his eyes closed, almost blissful, with his mouth buried below the thatch of Damien’s hair, and he looks incredible
He pulls away as Damien’s thighs start to shake, nodding at his free hand gripping the hotel sheets. “You don’t have to do that.”
Damien wants to yell at him for stopping when he was so close, and then his brain catches up to what he’s saying.
“You want me to pull your hair?”
“Yeah, c’mon, put me where you want me, Damien.”
Mark’s eyes nearly sparkle as Damien slowly puts his hand to Mark’s head, curling his fingers into the long strands of hair. He cautiously drags him down to his cunt again, waiting for him to stop him, but he doesn’t- He closes his eyes again and gets to work.
He starts pumping his fingers in and out, spearing his tongue between them and avoiding his clit until Damien grips his hair harder and pulls him up. He moans at the sting in his scalp, sending vibrations against Damien’s cunt, and Damien moans back.
He works on his clit again, alternating swirling it with his tongue and sucking it between his lips, sending Damien higher and higher until he’s panting out groans with each breath. Damien drags him impossibly closer, locking his thighs around his head to take the pleasure he needs, and he barely has time to warn Mark before he’s squirting into his mouth.
“Fuck, fuck, Mark!”
Mark laps it all up, working his cunt through it with his tongue and fingers until Damien finally pushes him away from over-sensitivity.
He tries to catch his breath, staring at the ceiling to avoid looking at Mark’s face covered in his come.
“You okay?”
Damien has to laugh so he doesn’t cry.
It’s over. It’s finally over. He got to come, it didn’t reset.
“Yeah, I’m... Yeah.”
“Gonna help me out?” Damien looks down at Mark who’s sat back on his heels, erection prominent through his sweatpants.
“I’ve never, uh...” touched someone like that. How embarrassing.
“Sorry, right, you don’t have to.”
“No,” he sits up, scooting out of the wet spot he left on the bed and closer to Mark, “I want to. Show me.”
Mark shivers, pulling down his waistbands until his cock springs out.
“Give me your hand.”
Damien holds it out, curious, and Mark spits in his palm. He feels himself throb weakly at the sight.
“Christ.”
“We don’t exactly have lube.”
Damien exhales and reaches for his dick, wrapping his fingers around the base gingerly and pumping it a few times to spread the saliva.
“Tighter,” Mark says, eyes closed.
Damien tightens his fist, letting his thumb drag over the head as he pulls his hand up and down. He watches Mark’s face for any hint he’s doing it right, any twitch or indicator to tell him he’s doing a good job.
Mark puts his hand over his, guiding his hand into a quicker, firmer rhythm. “That’s right, there you go,” he says, leaning forward to hide his face in Damien’s collar. “That’s so good.”
Damien breathes in the scent of Mark all around him, trying to memorize the feeling of touching him. The sound of their sticky, joined hands working Mark’s cock while he moans.
“Shit, c’mon,” Mark curses. He tightens their grip and starts to jerk his hips up into it. “Fuck, Damien-”
He’s getting closer to the edge. Damien feels him pushing back against his want to slow things down, to make it last. He doesn’t know if this will ever happen again, if Mark will regret it in the morning.
He eases their pace, “Relax, boy scout, I’ve got you.”
“ Please, Damien, fuck!”
Damien feels the trip of his power taking over, the desire to be in control when he’s been lost at Mark’s whims for the endless cycle of loops.
If he can make this last, he can get things right again.
Mark doesn’t seem to feel the same way.
His desire spikes, trying to plead Damien to move faster. He’s close, and Damien knows it.
He doesn’t recognize the hooks in his brain until it’s too late.
50.
Sue him, he spends a few loops having sex with Mark.
It always ends before they’re both satisfied, but at least he gets to be close to him.
Surprisingly, the hardest part isn’t leaving the warmth of his arms and having to focus on the road before he crashes, but the guilt that eats at him for spending his time this way. When he has no clue if Mark really means it when he says he’s not being influenced, or if that’s his power at work as well.
Because it’s true. He wants to hear that Mark wants him for him more than anything, so Mark will tell him that. He can assuage his guilt over the dubious consent issues for the short period of time it takes for either of them to orgasm, but he can’t help but face it on the long drive to the motel that follows.
He’s desperate to be close to him, to have him in reality.
If this isn’t reality.
What is it, then?
He’s entertained the thought of driving all through the day, never stopping at that cursed motel and getting food on the road. No chance of Mark putting his hands on him that way.
But even like this, trapped, day after day, he has to rest. It’s hard to think back on what the day before this all started was like. September 22nd is a day he’ll never see again, much like September 24th, but he tries.
They got on the road late in the day, choosing to enjoy some much needed downtime in a truck stop off the side of the Mississippi in the morning, then driving all through the night so they wouldn’t have to stay in the stinking swampland of Louisiana.
They got brunch once they reached Texas, some bright orange triangle of a building called Whataburger housing their meals, though the greeting the cashier offered sounded more like Waterburger with her southern drawl echoing through the drive-thru speaker.
He doesn’t have to remember what they got, because the remnants of their meals are still in the greasy striped bag sitting in Mark’s lap as they drive.
His body resets every loop, but it resets to how he felt at about 26 hours post-sleep and 2 hours post-whatever a honey butter chicken biscuit is.
So he has to stop driving eventually. There’s not much on their route for scenery, or food, or lodging, or... anything, so Damien always pulls into the first motel they see, fearing it could be hours before they stumble across another.
He’s too tired to scour the lobby for an updated map.
He’s too tired for much of anything.
When they finally get inside, Damien lays down on the bed closest to the door and tries to sleep.
“Can I turn on the TV?” Mark asks, and Damien groans.
“No.”
“Please?”
I didn’t know you even knew that word, his brain taunts.
“No, Mark. I’m trying to sleep.”
“Right. Sorry. You do that, then. I’ll... stare at the ceiling! Popcorn texture. Really retro. Fascinating.”
“Jesus fuck, do you exist to torture me?” Damien puts a pillow over his head and then feels it ripped away.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Damien, am I inconveniencing you? By having wants and desires? That’s really rough, why don’t you tell me all about the trauma I’m inducing over shitty chinese food? That’s my favorite pastime!”
Damien growls and makes a grab for the pillow Mark is holding above him like a weapon. He jerks it out of his reach.
“Cut it out, Mark.”
Mark grits his teeth, staring down at Damien with a fire in his eyes. Damien wants him to not be mad anymore, to let him sleep. It’s too easy to let his power drift into him.
Mark drops the pillow back on the bed, sighing.
“Sorry.”
Damien feels guilt rise up in his chest.
“No, um,” he clears his throat, trying to rid himself of the feeling, “I’m sorry.”
Mark sits down on the opposite bed, staring.
“What?”
“I’ve just... never heard you say sorry before.”
Damien frowns. “Yeah, well. It’s... It’s whatever. I’ve got a lot of shit to make up for.”
“...Damien?”
He tries to fill himself with his usual swagger, to put on the mask that’s served him well over the years. It feels like it doesn’t fit anymore.
“I’m gonna go get us dinner, alright? You, um... you stay here.”
Mark nods and watches him leave.
He doesn’t leave his phone in the motel room this time. Mark needs to know the truth, but breaking Damien’s trust to find it out... it’s not the foundation they need. It hurt him, he’s big enough to admit that. He thought they had been bonding, that Mark actually trusted him, but it was his power deluding him. Just like always.
He gets their barbecue, the extra order of cornbread for Mark. He sits in the car for a minute, dreading what’s to come.
He secures the mask.
“Honey, I’m home!”
Mark’s chuckles, turning off the TV with the remote in his hand.
“Smells good.”
“Barbecue. We’re finally in a state with good barbecue. And before you ask, I did get cornbread. I have met you.”
“Yesss,” Mark smiles as Damien passes him his container of takeout, and he decides to sit on the bed beside him.
“Look, I know it’s been kind of... rough, these past few months.”
“Understatement,” Mark interrupts through a mouth full of barbecue.
Damien points his plastic fork at Mark. “Let me talk, alright? I’m not gonna do this more than once.”
Mark raises his hands in surrender.
“I figure... you already know the basics. That Dr. Bright and your sister are the same person. That I lied about it all. It’s not that hard to figure out. I was in therapy with her for a long while, but she never helped me. I don’t think she ever wanted to, but, well, I’m easier to keep around on a leash.”
Mark’s staring at him. It’s clear he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. Damien doesn’t know if it’s his power stopping him or not.
“Before our grand escape from the AM, she sold me out to them. Told them about me, what I could do. Probably told them they could have me in exchange for you. See, there’s no other atypicals like me; I’m rare. That’s why I wanted to meet you. So someone could understand what it’s like.”
He pokes at his own barbecue, the smell of it making his stomach turn.
“I knew if I brought you back, there was no way she’d ever let me see you.”
“I’m not a prize to be won, Damien.” Mark glowers at his own food, pensive.
“I know. I know that now. And I’m sorry.”
“I need to see her.”
Damien nods. “I know.”
They toss their half-eaten food in the trash and get on the road.
Damien gives Mark the keys, and the other thing he picked up while out.
“...A camera?”
He looks down at his scuffed sneakers. “I know it’s just a disposable, but I figured it’s better than nothing. We can pick up a better one once we hit the city, or something.”
He hears Mark sniff, and jerks his head up to see him rubbing his eyes.
“Oh, god. Is it that bad?”
Mark laughs, teary, and shakes his head. “No, it’s... it’s perfect. Thank you.”
Damien’s shoulders sag in relief. “Oh.”
“Fuck, come here,” Mark grabs him by the front of his hoodie and pulls him into a kiss.
Damien closes his eyes.
They saw fireworks back in July, just days after they met. He remembers driving through the clogged city streets while Mark’s eyes sparkled at the reflections of each explosion in the windshield. He’s never set one off himself, but he has to imagine that kissing Mark is like standing too close to a detonating firework, feeling every hair stand on end.
They spend too long outside in the summer heat, just kissing against the side of the car. When they finally get in, Mark sits in the driver seat for the first time and tells Damien to get some rest.
When he wakes up, the clock on the dash says 12:02 A.M.