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Mark wakes up before Peter, it’s 10am and it is still a strange feeling of not having to go to work at a specific time despite it being a bit over a year since he’d been exposed. Without the rush of needing to get up, he’s able to turn his head to look at his partner beside him.
Since regularly sleeping in bed together, Mark has noted that Peter snores incredibly loud. The man also sleeps on his stomach, limbs spread out everywhere as if trying to take over the bed for himself. Despite it all, Mark can only see it as endearing.
Like this, Mark can almost imagine that everything is fine, this little fantasy bubble of his is actually reality. That there is no gorey past and that they aren’t technically on the run from the FBI and police, that Mark and Peter are two ordinary lovers who go on dates and enjoy each other's company.
He doesn’t want to think of the inevitable shoe drop when one day one of them gets bored of the other and kills him in his sleep. Mark has to keep his little fantasies and delusions so he doesn’t end up killing Peter before the man kills him.
Peter makes a groaning sound, his snoring has now stopped and he tilts his head up towards Mark, eyes opening just a bit to glare up at him. “Were you watching me as I slept?” His words were accusatory but with no real venom behind them.
“Morning sunshine.” Mark says, avoiding the other man's question, instead leaning down to kiss him on the nose.
Peter scowls, moving his head back away from Mark. “morning breath.” he then brings up a hand from underneath the covers to push Mark off of him. “Your beard is itchy.”
Mark just smiles down at Peter, the man only just woke up and he’s complaining about everything. He does bring his own hand up to his face, rubbing against the long beard that is now covering it.
Shaving is a pain, what with his scar threatening to open up if he angles a razor wrong. But also it gives him a better disguise and makes him look less like the man he used to be. The one the FBI is looking for.
"We’re going out today." Mark says, he finally pulls himself out from under the covers, wincing as he stands on the cold carpet below. Mark can feel Peter's eyes on his scarred back as he stands.
Mark hears Peter shuffle in bed behind him, probably sitting up. "What kind of torture are you planning for me?"
The room is cold, so Mark makes quick work into putting on his clothes that he's thrown around the room. When Mark looks back at Peter, the former agent is watching him, his face mixed with different emotions. He's lived with Peter for long enough to avoid trying to decipher them, to not want to know what he is expressing.
“It’s a surprise.” Mark says as he rounds the bed to stand over Peter. The man looks up at him, he opens his mouth, probably to complain or object but Mark stops him. “I’ll go make breakfast while you get up.”
Mark then leaves Peter behind in bed to go to their kitchen. It’s nowhere near as spacious and useful as his old kitchen, they’re living in a shitty cabin that barely works. But he’s able to take out a pan to put on the stove. Mark then grabs out bacon, eggs and toast. He places the eggs and bacon on the pan.
It’s such a strange little routine of his, making breakfast for his… partner in the morning. Mark has always always enjoyed cooking, but it had been years since he’d cooked for anyone other than himself.
Mark is so focussed on making sure their breakfast he barely registers anyone else in the room until he feels Peter’s arms wrap around his middle. He jumps, almost bringing the hot pan with him. Mark is able to school himself and not accidentally swing it at Peter.
“Bacon and eggs, you really do spoil me.” Peter’s breath is hot on his ear and Mark makes an effort to not react in any other way. He only hums in response, tilting his head to run his face against Peter’s.
The man pulls away, making a disgruntled noise, “Your beard, again, I don’t want you rubbing it on my face.” Mark wants to make a comment about the many times Peter has held his face and kissed him despite the beard, but he holds his tongue.
Mark just smiles, not removing his eyes from the food, he moves them around with a spatula. He hears Peter open up cupboards, getting out some instant coffee and mugs, turning on the kettle and getting their coffees ready.
Mark had been banned from making coffee, he puts too much sugar , as Peter has complained over and over about. They have a routine now, something Mark had never thought would happen in a million years. Peter walks around Mark easily and Mark is able to move the hot pan above the plates to serve their food.
Peter grabs the salt from the cupboard and drowns his food in it, Mark puts a regular amount of salt. The two eat comfortably and across from each other on a tiny table they were able to snatch off the side of the road. They're close enough to touch each other under the table and Mark rubs his left leg against Peter’s.
There are butterflies curling into Mark’s gut, his ribs feel like they’re getting crushed, but it is not in a bad way. Neither men talk as they eat, Peter doesn’t like talking as much in the mornings. He needs to eat before he’s able to speak without trying to rip someone’s- Mark’s- throat out.
Despite the undercurrent of everything their past holds, they are eating breakfast and drinking coffee like normal people. Mark gets to run a leg along Peter’s and if he wanted to be bold, he could probably reach forward across the table and hold the man's hand.
It was disgustingly sweet and domestic, and Mark ached for more. He doesn’t want to take more, he fears it’ll crash down all around him, the illusion he’s built up for them will disappear and one of the hundreds of scenarios he has nightmares about will become true.
Peter is oblivious to Mark’s swirling thoughts, he finishes his food and coffee and is already taking their plates to the sink. He gets a good look at the other man's backside as he cleans up the dishes. “You’re not going to tell me where you’re taking me today?” Peter asks when he’s done, turning back around to look at him.
Mark hasn’t even moved from his seat, only tilting himself a bit to watch his partner clean. “Nope, it’s a surprise.” He grins at the scowl Peter gives him.
“You know I hate surprises.” Peter walks over to him and Mark stands up to meet him. He absolutely knows the former agent hates surprises, twenty plus years on the force would do that to anyone.
He also knows this isn’t a surprise that requires a gun or a fight. It’s something nice that neither of them are used to. Mark thinks they’ve earned it, or at least Peter has earned it after everything Mark has put him through.
Ten minutes later they’re in the car, Peter can make all the coffee he wants, but Mark refuses to let the man drive. Peter’s insane lack of road safety and intense road rage is not something Mark will get used to anytime soon.
Where the two of them are now is vastly different from the sprawling concrete forest of the city. Instead the forests here are made of massive Canadian spruce trees that border the long winding roads. There are barely any buildings in sight for miles as they leave their small cabin and venture out towards where Mark is taking them.
Peter does well to hold his tongue, they aren’t ones for small talk so whatever the man is itching to talk about is probably about their current situation. Mark doesn’t blame him, they’ve moved over eight times since they’ve been on the run, it’s hard to feel confident when you’re looking over your shoulder in fear.
The cabin they’re at now has been their longest stay of about three months, and Hoffman can tell that Peter fears this is another quick bail to avoid the police. He decides to break the silence to tell him, “we’re not running again.”
From the corner of Mark’s eye he can see Peter scowl, his arms are crossed over his chest and it’s scrunching up the fabric of his plaid shirt. “I figured when you didn’t drag me out of bed this morning, and actually made me breakfast.”
Peter looks handsome like this, Mark would be staring at him more often if he didn’t have to drive. The man has a five o’clock shadow, Peter’s hair goes down just past his ears and he primarily wears plaid now, it’s still strange to see him without a suit or leather jacket, but Mark thinks he likes this look on Peter, he likes how rugged the man is. He finds it hard to keep his hands off of him sometimes.
Mark still doesn’t tell Peter where they’re going, and Peter gives up on trying to ask. This is unnatural for them, normally the man would be talking his ear off in trying to get Mark to confess. But Mark also realizes it’s rare for him to surprise Peter with an outing.
Finally they stop in front of a market, it’s at the edge of a town and not many people are here. When Peter sees where they are he seems to give a double take before looking at Mark with a frown, “Is this a joke?” Mark smiles at his partner, switching off the engine and pulling the keys out of the ignition to stare at him.
“Nope.” Mark doesn’t elaborate before opening his door and getting out of the car. The air is crisp, bordering on uncomfortable. There is no proper road, just wet gravel and puddles all over the nearly empty car park. The smell of rain is still in the air and the cold burns at Mark’s throat.
Peter gets out of the car too, standing up and taking a good look at the place. Mark takes a second to grab a surgical mask from the glove box placing it over his face to cover his scar. His beard can only do so much to hide the ugly thing. He then grabs a baseball hat and hands it to Peter. The man stares at it like it insulted him before he turns his glare to Mark.
“It’s a disguise.” Mark’s voice is slightly muffled by the mask, it doesn’t help that he doesn’t really speak loudly. Peter scowls but actually puts the baseball cap on his head, backwards. Hoffman thinks the man looks even more ridiculous now, he wants to jump him.
*
Just like the parking lot shows, the market is practically empty. It makes Mark feel slightly less tense, and he can tell that Peter is more calm too. There are stores with little trinkets and statues. Second hand vhs tapes and DVDs, books stacked on top of each other and handmade clothes in front of people who made them.
Mark had never really been a market guy, he hadn’t been since Angelina had stopped dragging him to them. She would always collect statues and books that she never read. Mark had kept those objects after she had been killed, he never added to the collection though. Now that he was on the run, he’ll never see those ever again.
A few objects catch his eye, but unless he steals them from under the shopkeeper's nose, he’s not going to be able to afford them. Mark isn’t even sure where he’d keep anything, if the FBI found out where they lived tomorrow then he might have to leave them all over again.
Peter sticks around for too long at a stall selling old books with cracked spines and faded words. Mark stands behind him as he picks up a book to thumb through. He then puts the book down and picks up another one, a sappy old romance book with a provocative cover of a woman half naked in the arms of a tall handsome man.
Mark smirks at the sight, seeing his partner interested in cheesy romance novels written for middle aged women, “needing some entertainment?” he asks as he slides next to the man to look through the books himself.
His partner jolts a bit at his words before scowling, he doesn’t respond to Mark’s comment though, instead snapping the book shut before placing it back into the book pile. Peter skims over more books looking for something remotely interesting. Another book is picked up, once again a sappy romance novel with a man and woman on the cover.
Peter reads the blurb before flicking through the pages, His eyes squinting at the words. Mark realizes he absolutely loves the sight of Peter trying desperately to read. He’s not surprised, the man’s hair is more gray than black now and he’s hunched over most of the time.
“Maybe you need some glasses.” Mark smiles underneath his mask at Peter’s face.
“Absolutely not, my eyesight is fine.” He then turns around and calls over the shopkeeper to purchase the book. When the two walk away from the stall, Peter’s expression has softened just slightly. Mark makes the effort to memorize the man's face as thoroughly as possible.
The two pass by more shops but nothing else really catches their eye. The fresh smell of fried foods coming from the few food stalls open were tempting, despite having only eaten like an hour earlier. Mark only needs to beg with his eyes before Peter sighs and they walk over to a place selling hot fries.
With the cold weather, the fries are perfect to eat. Mark makes the mistake of trying to shove one into his mouth before it cools properly, he ends up gagging mouth open trying to cool his tongue. He hears Peter’s laugh next to him and glares back with teary eyes. When Mark rubs the tears from his eyes he sees Peter staring back at him with an almost soft smile. The black heart inside his ribcage beats slightly faster than normal.
Mark realizes that the corny romance novels Peter reads are starting to rub off on him, he feels the need to go home and rub his skin raw, make himself hurt as a reminder of who he truly is.
No one here knows, the man selling fries doesn't know who Mark Hoffman is. The woman who sold Peter the old romance book doesn't. No one in this market knows that the two men are on the run, that they're two most wanted men in America.
Mark has felt blood splattered on his face and still warm insides on his hands. He's seen things the people here only watch in horror movies. He sometimes still has the need to dig his nails into flesh and rip.
A warm calloused hand brushes against Mark's own and he is taken out of his daze to see Peter staring at him in concern. It feels misplaced and Mark pulls his hand away, instantly regretting it when he feels the chill around his fingers.
"What?" His voice comes out slightly more harsh than intended but Peter doesn't flinch, he just frowns.
"Do you want to continue standing around until it starts raining or can we go?" Peter points to the empty chip packet, salt and ketchup coat the inside of the box.
Mark lifts his own tomato covered fingers to lick then clean. Peter hands him a disposable napkin and Mark uses it to wipe the rest of the grease and spit off.
"I wanna take one last look around." Mark says. He doesn't tell Peter why. He doesn't tell his partner that the little bubble this market has become almost makes him forget the outside world.
It's also an excuse to be around Peter without wanting to bite his throat out or spend five hours yelling at.
Peter walks faster than Mark, obviously eager to walk back to the car and get out of this place. Mark keeps his pace more casually, enjoying the remaining time as much as he can. A silver glint catches his eye and the man stops in his tracks.
It's a jewelry stand, bracelets and rings made by an older woman. She smiles at Mark and he looks over to where Peter was, almost back at the entrance to the market.
He pulls out his wallet, a plain one with a new ID and no cards. He takes cash out and asks about two of the silver objects that caught his eye.
*
Peter is waiting for Mark at the car, he looks frustrated and his brow is creased more than normal.
"Took you long enough, what were you doing?"
Mark feels the weight in his pants pocket, "I wanted to look at some of the jackets and sweaters, might need some for winter."
Peter just grunts before getting into the passenger side of the car. Mark stands there, staring over the car and towards the forest surrounding the small town they've stopped by. Something sick curls into his gut, almost like a bad feeling that won't go away no matter how hard he tries.
Mark opens the driver's side door and gets in. He barely sits down before Peter is on him.
“We spent too much time there, what if someone had recognised us?” His voice barely conceals his rage but Mark picks up the fear laced in his voice.
“I wore a mask, we were fine.” The car is started and they pull away from the carpark.
“How could you have known that?”
“Because I had a backup plan, no one was going to know who we were.” Mark doesn’t take the regular route home, he goes towards the town. “No one is going to think two wanted men are shopping at a market.”
“What was your backup plan going to be, kill all witnesses?” Peter spits out.
Mark doesn’t respond, he holds his lips tight and continues driving until the stop in front of a grocery store, there are a bit more people here. When he finally looks at Peter he sees his partner stare at him. He realizes he never answered the question.
Would Mark have killed someone if they recognised him, if they saw him and Peter and decided to call the authorities. He’s killed people for much less, Peter knows this. Mark swallows the lump in his throat and instead pulls out his wallet and gives it to the man still staring at him.
“No one would have noticed us.” He says softly. It’s like he’s trying to calm down an angry animal. Mark would rather anything else than for this to escalate, he’s still on the high of a good day. He doesn’t need another argument to force them to stop talking until they make up with angry hate sex.
Peter hasn’t responded, he’s taken the wallet but he is still sitting in the car. Everytime this happens Mark wonders if the man will stab him in the throat and run, take his money and finally leave him for real. He never has but he knows that Peter has probably thought of it.
“We need more groceries.” Mark continues his soft voice, as if raising his voice any higher will scare the man into leaving.
He does leave, but only to go into the shops. Mark watches as Peter disappears inside before breathing out a small sigh of relief. Reaching into his pocket, Mark pulls out the objects in his hand. They’re light and made of metal, nothing too fancy and cheap enough to pay with a few stray bills.
Mark wasn’t one for sentimentality, he wasn’t one to keep many objects. Everything he had owned was back in the United States and probably in some FBI locker. He only has a picture of Angelina on him that he keeps in his wallet.
He spends a few minutes staring into the palm of his hand before the sound of the back car door opens and shopping is shoved on the seats. Mark quickly places the objects back into his pocket just in time for Peter to get back into his seat.
“What were you looking at?”
“Nothing.”
The car is started up and they finally go home. There is still tension in the air between them, Peter wants to talk and Mark wants to continue living like nothing is wrong. He’s taken off his mask now, so there is nothing to hide. Peter’s eyes are trained on him, on his jagged cheek scar surrounded by an unkempt beard.
“I bought steak for dinner.” Peter finally breaks the silence once they’re out of the town and surrounded by giant trees. The setting sun glares through the trees and barely lights the unlit path home.
“Sounds good.” Mark responds in a whisper, once again in fear of pissing off his partner and ruining the only good thing to come from this. He lets go of the gear stick for a second to place a hand on Peter’s thigh.
A harsh breath escapes Peter’s mouth but he doesn’t make a move to slap Mark’s hand away and for a short while they sit like that, down the straight path hidden by tall trees. Mark’s hand resting on Peter’s leg as they drive back to their cabin.
Eventually Mark does have to put his hand back to control the car and get them home. The tension has changed between them, there is still the undeniable anger and other ugly emotions in the air, but it’s mostly filled with desire and the urge to care. To hold each other like nothing else matters in their fucked up life.
When they get home Mark helps Peter move the shopping inside. He removes the meat and some vegetables to prepare to cook. He knows his partner is watching his back.
For the second time that day Mark cooks food for Peter, he likes doing that. He likes the domesticity of it. He sometimes imagines him cooking dinner as Peter comes home from work.
Peter will ask him what he's cooking and Mark will tell him it's his favorite, something with meat and an ungodly amount of salt. Peter will then kiss his cheek and read before food is ready.
Peter isn't one to cook, he can cook, he's in his fifties after all. But he chooses not to. The only excuse he gave Mark when asked was "I like your cooking better" .
He wonders if that's true, or if Peter is being nice to him due to constant close proximity.
His partner has disappeared out of Mark's peripheral, and despite living with him on the run, he fears Peter might come up behind him and stab him in the back.
Mark tries to distract himself by cooking their food but he has his ears trained for anything unnatural. He feels tense despite how good the day had been and fears he'd ruined everything.
The feeling of arms wrapping around his torso makes Mark jolt, he feels Peter's breath on his ear and warm body against his back.
He doesn't say anything though, Mark continues cooking, stirring around the vegetables as if he doesn't have Peter watching over his shoulder. He wants to ask why Peter is here, what he's even doing; but he doesn't.
It doesn't take long for Mark to realize what it is, with how tender Peter is holding him. It's that of a long time lover or spouse. There are no tasteful insults the man normally throws at Mark, no mocking his beard or any other part of Mark he may have issues with.
"Peter-" Mark starts his sentence, but he's interrupted by words whispered into his shoulder. The two men freeze and the only sounds are the sizzling of the pan.
Peter presses ever closer to Mark, as if he could somehow fuse their bodies and get as close to his partner as humanly possibly. The weight is comforting.
"What was that?" Mark asks, he probably needs to sort the meat out but Peter is holding him hostage with his body.
"You're a piece of work, you know that?" Despite the tone there is no venom. Instead it's laced with something more meaningful, an apology.
Mark smiles knowing Peter wouldn't be able to see from his angle, "You're no walk in the park either." He leans his head back just a bit to feel Peter's shoulder on the back of his skull.
Another mumbled expletive is spilled out of Peter's mouth and the man finally pulls away from Mark. Immediately he misses the warmth of Peter's body.
"And yet here we are." Peter whispers, his voice is so tired and broken after everything. It both warms Mark's heart but also squeezes it in an almost painful way.
Mark continues cooking their food, he doesn't turn around but the lack of footsteps mean Peter hasn't left him yet. The man's eyes are on Mark, but they aren't watching like a hawk waiting for prey to fumble. It feels more intimate despite not meeting his gaze.
Mark is finally setting up their plates, he's no chef but he feels a sense of pride at the presentation. It's not for anyone else but them, no one will ever see this small masterpiece that Mark has created. They will only know him from what the news tells them.
Peter's body is back against him, he doesn't wrap his arms around Mark like before but it still feels intimate. The man presses his lips against Mark's unscarred cheek in a way that is too soft. Mark pauses his assembly of vegetables and Peter wraps one arm around him to snatch up his own plate.
"Thanks for the food." Peter's words feel forced but real. Mark knows it's not about the food. He grabs his own plate to sit down next to his partner.
*
Mark steps out of the shower and wraps a towel around his waist before walking back to their bedroom. "The hot water pressure still sucks." He complains like he does every time he has a shower.
Peter isn't listening though, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casts his face in a deep shadow and the man is squinting down at the book in his hands, it's the same one he brought at the market.
"You really need to get glasses." Mark sits down next to Peter on the bed, leaning over to look at what his partner is reading.
"Are you calling me old?" Peter frowns but doesn't take his eyes off the text.
"I'm saying your eyesight is shit." Mark runs fingers through his partner's graying hair, it was still slightly damp from his own shower earlier.
"My eyesight is perfectly fine." Peter leans into Mark's touch, humming as he turns over a page. His face was slightly flushed as he squinted at the words below, whatever it is he's reading must be good. Good enough not to tear his eyes away.
Mark catches a glance at the page, smiling a bit when he notices what Peter is reading. "If you wanted something sexy you should have just asked me." He moves his right arm, the one not in Peter's hair, to run over the man's stomach.
Peter flinches, finally tearing himself away from the book to stare at Mark, a frown on his face. "I want to read." He doesn't actually push Mark away from him, but he doesn't reciprocate the touches.
"You can read that shitty book later," Mark whines, he's practically begging for attention and his partner won't give it to him. "You don't need a stupid romance book, you have me." Mark says this as if he won't just borrow the book after Peter is done, to read a sappy romance book and wish it was him living a perfect fairytale life.
Peter sucks in a breath, and Mark freezes in response. He wonders if he pushed too far. "It's not stupid." Peter mutters, his words are laced with warning and Mark doesn't push it further. He wonders if they're both only interested in cheesy romance books to fill the void of their relationship.
It's not like Mark and Peter are that romantic. They can't go out on dates, watch a movie or go to a restaurant. Most of their relationship has been purely physical, with the affectionate touches merely being a product of close approximation to each other ever since Mark almost got him killed.
Mark wonders if Peter would ever desire him in a different setting, if neither had been pushed to the other, would Peter still like him.
Peter barely does anything as Mark leans further in his space, kissing the man's jaw and rubbing against the man's face. Stubble against beard.
"Don't tell me you only want me for sex." Mark whispers into Peter's ear. He is still pushing it, he probably shouldn't. His stomach twists into a knot when Peter doesn't answer straight away.
Peter lets out a sigh, finally dragging his eyes away from his book to stare Mark in the face. "You're being needy." The mocking tone is only slightly abated when he leans forward to kiss Mark fully on the lips.
Mark hums happily, enjoying the taste of flesh and tongue as Peter opens his mouth for him to ravage. It's far softer than what they’re used to. Paper rustles and Mark hears Peter place the book down to finally focus his attention entirely on him.
He's smiling against his partner's lips too much to continue kissing, pulling back to look down at Peter. The man is smiling back at him, wrinkles and eye bags highlighted against the bedside table lamp. Despite that, Peter looks like he's only ten years younger, he looks genuinely happy and it makes Mark's heart soar.
"I can be good for you." Mark continues to whisper as if speaking louder would break the immersion. "More than just for sex."
He runs a hand up and down Peter's side, under his shirt enjoying the feeling of warm skin underneath his palm. Peter raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything, his smile turns more into a smirk.
"What else can you possibly give me?" The remark hurts incredibly so, leaving Mark to falter slightly in his touches. Peter seems to notice this, grabbing onto his wrist to keep him steady. "We're on the run from the government. There isn't much else we can do."
Peter's words only slightly soothe Mark's beating heart, he takes a few more breaths before remembering something so vital.
Mark pulls away from Peter, his warmth and moves off the bed to look through the discarded pile of clothes he left before his shower. Peter makes a disgruntled noise behind him and Mark finds what he was looking for before racing back to bed.
The man's embrace was warm and comforting. Peter makes a questioning noise at Mark's movement and Mark responds with a kiss. It’s feverish and laced with desire but after a few seconds Peter doesn’t reciprocate. The man falls kind of pliant under Mark and he pulls away to see the man looking up at him.
Peter mostly looks confused, his eyes are dark but his brow is furrowed, making the lines on his face bolder. Mark pulls back away from his partner, sitting on his knees on the bed next to Peter. The towel that had been around his waist was practically falling off but he didn’t care.
Mark grabs Peter’s right hand tenderly around the wrist, bringing it towards him to place the objects he’d brought into his palm. He then closes the man's fingers before he can see but judging how Peter’s eyes widen slightly he already knows what they are.
When Peter pulls his hand back and opens his fingers he looks down at the two identical silver rings nestling in the middle of his palm. They’re old and cheap, covered in scratch marks and stains. But when Mark had seen them at the market they had captured his interest.
“To replace the old one I threw away.” Mark clears his throat after a minute of silence. Peter’s gaze still hadn’t left the two rings, his face a cocktail of emotions. When Mark had thrown out the man’s old wedding ring, it had been before they went on the run. Peter had screamed at him, yelling about their significance and Mark had thrown it away.
It’s not like Peter was married at the time, he wasn’t a widow, he’d been divorced before he even worked on the jigsaw case. Mark had even asked what the significance of keeping a wedding ring from a failed marriage was, Peter didn’t have a response to that.
Finally the former agent tore his eyes away from them to look back up at Mark, his fist curled around the rings to hide them from him. “We can’t do this.” Mark feels his heart plummet, the look on his face must have reflected that because Peter continued. “We cannot get married, legally.”
Mark picked up the man's fist, cradling it on his own. It was disgustingly sentimental and Mark would have never done this with anyone else. “We can, legally.” it’s almost like he’s begging, he wouldn’t admit that of course. “Canada legalized it a few years ago.”
A scowl flashed across Peter’s face, “I’m not talking about being gay, I’m talking about how you’re a serial killer on the run, and I am an accessory to everything you’ve ever done.”
He can almost see them now, Peter laying in bed with a nightshirt on, under the protection of the covers. Mark is kneeling over him on the bed, with only a towel half fallen off to keep him decent and almost begging for Peter to stick with him until death do them part.
Mark cannot remember the last time he was this emotionally vulnerable with someone else, apart from Angelina, he'd never let anyone get so close to him before.
He's determined to hold onto this for as long as he can, "not actually get married." Mark corrects himself, his throat hurts trying to push those words out of his mouth. "I can't imagine either of us are one for wedding vows, awkward dancing and an unnecessary number of guests."
Peter curls his lip at the image, "the whole thing is unnecessary." The way his eyes look distant, in thought. Mark wonders if he's thinking of his own wedding.
"It's a fantasy." Mark says, he lies back down again, over the covers and leaning into his partner, his lips near Peter's ear. "For just the two of us."
Peter shudders beneath him as warm breath caresses his ear. "Till death do us part." The words Mark had thought of before come tumbling out of Peter's mouth. They gut him like a fish.
He wonders if Peter is thinking the same thing, if the death that does them part is when one of them finally kills the other. The look on Peter's face lets Mark know he's thinking exactly that.
Instead of focussing on the sheer cliff with rocks at the bottom that is their relationship, Mark instead enjoys the road upwards. He caresses his other hand along Peter's flank, bunching up the material of his nightshirt. His other hand still wrapped around the hand holding those rings.
Peter hums at the attention before pulling away from Mark. He whines at the lack of contact, pouting as his partner opens up his fist, showing off the rings in his palm again.
He picks one of them up between two fingers, studying the metal band closely. Mark watches Peter with curiosity, flinching when his partner grabs his left arm around the wrist.
Palm down, fingers spread. Mark watches in adoration as Peter slips the metal down his ring finger. It's a bit too snug, nipping at his skin and the hair on his knuckles.
Mark doesn't care though, he just stares at his hand with his mouth slightly open. Peter clears his throat, snapping him out of his little daze to stare at the man's face. Peter is looking at him expectantly.
"I do." Mark huffs out softly, soft enough he can barely hear it over the rapid beating of his own heart. He then takes the other ring, still in Peter's hand and grabbing his left arm to mirror his partner's action.
When he's done, Peter looks at the ring. Unlike Mark's, his ring is slightly looser on his more boney fingers. It's weird seeing him with a ring on his finger again.
"I do." Peter whispers back.
Mark feels something in his chest that aches just so, he lets go of Peter's wrist, instead framing his face and leaning forward to kiss him.
Peter moans as he's pushed down onto the bed, Mark moves the covers out of the way so he's able to slip himself under and hold Peter properly.