24. Chapter 24
Marcus took the wheel himself, the familiar grip of the leather steering wheel grounding him in a reality that felt too surreal.
He couldn't trust anyone else to drive tonight, not when this was the one decision he had control over.
The city lights blurred past them, a kaleidoscope of neon colors reflecting off the rain-slicked streets.
Andre, his body slumped against the passenger seat, slept for most of the journey.
His head rested against the cool glass of the window, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that Marcus found himself syncing his own breaths to.
He let Andre sleep, knowing that for once, there was no operation dictating their schedule.
Nothing to weigh them down. Andre could wake up on his own terms now.
The thought was so foreign that it took Marcus a full mile to wrap his head around it.
He pulled up outside a converted three-flat building, its newly familiar silhouette looming in the darkness.
He'd stood on this very sidewalk once before, paralyzed by indecision and unable to make himself climb the stairs.
Tonight was different. Tonight, he ascended those stairs without a moment's hesitation, Andre's hand fitting perfectly into his own.
The warmth of Andre's touch was a lifeline as he unlocked the door and led them both into a kitchen that had once felt alien but now held a sense of familiarity.
"You're doing the thing," Andre said, his voice heavy with sleep as he dropped his keys onto the counter. His eyes, sharp and observant despite his exhaustion, watched Marcus with an intensity that spoke volumes about how well he knew him. "The counting thing. What are you counting now?"
"Nothing important," Marcus replied, leaning against the cool marble of the counter, his arms crossed over his chest. He could feel Andre's gaze on him, probing, searching for answers.
"That's not an answer," Andre challenged, his tone gentle but firm.
Marcus sighed, running a hand through his hair as he forced himself to confront the question head-on instead of deflecting it as he'd been conditioned to do over the past six years.
"I'm trying to remember the last morning I woke up without a single thing I needed to do about Drakov," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
The words felt strange on his tongue, like he was speaking a foreign language.
"I can't find one. Not since before you and I split.
Every day for six years, some part of my head was doing math about him, even on the good days.
Especially on the good days, if I'm honest, because good days always felt like something I hadn't earned yet. "
"And now?" Andre prompted, his voice soft in the quiet kitchen.
"Now there's nothing to calculate." Marcus's voice was a low murmur, his gaze fixed on Andre with an intensity that made the air between them thrum with unspoken emotion.
He looked at him, really looked, the way he hadn't let himself in longer than he wanted to admit.
His eyes traced the familiar lines of Andre's face, the faint scar above his eyebrow, the tired but determined glint in his eyes.
"No countdown. No debt. No version of tomorrow where I lose you again.
Just tomorrow. An actual, ordinary tomorrow. "
Andre crossed the kitchen slowly, each step echoing softly against the tiled floor.
It was the same kitchen he'd crossed in a rush once, days ago, before either of them had known how close they'd come to running out of time to say everything they never said.
The memory hung in the air between them, a ghost of their past selves.
"That scares you more than Drakov ever did," Andre said. His voice was soft, not a question but a statement of understanding.
"Yes." Marcus let himself say it plainly, no hesitation. His voice was raw and honest, stripped of all pretense. "I know how to survive a threat. I've had years of practice. I don't actually know how to do this part. The part where nothing's coming for us and I just get to have you again."
"Well." Andre's hands found his waist, steady and unhurried, the opposite of every touch that had come before it. His fingers traced circles on Marcus's skin through the thin fabric of his shirt, grounding him in the moment. "I hear it's mostly the same as the other part. Fewer guns."
Marcus laughed then, surprised into it by Andre's dry humor.
The sound came out rougher than he meant it to, a raw echo in the quiet kitchen.
"Fewer guns," he agreed, his voice thick with emotion.
"I'm not sure I can commut to that. I'm not giving up the work.
But… there's a place in it for you, if… if that's something you could want. "
"Good." Andre's forehead came to rest against his, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. His voice was a soft whisper, a promise wrapped in two simple words. "Because I meant what I said in that house. Nowhere else to be tomorrow. Just you. However long you'll have me."
"Six years was too long to lose you," Marcus said, his voice barely above a whisper. His fingers traced the line of Andre's jaw, his touch gentle and reverent. "I'm not planning on finding out what more feels like."
He kissed him then, slow and unhurried, their bodies melting together in the dim light of the kitchen. Morning was already threatening gray at the edge of the window, but neither of them were in any hurry to notice it. For once, time was on their side.
Andre walked him backward through the apartment, their lips locked in a kiss that was unhurried, languid.
Each step was measured, deliberate, a dance that had nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with the newfound luxury of time.
The apartment was quiet around them, the only sounds their soft breaths and the occasional creak of the wooden floor under their weight.
Marcus found himself slipping into old habits despite the tranquility. His mind began calculating distances - the length to the bedroom door, the sightlines from each window. The ingrained instincts of survival hadn't yet received the memo that they'd been granted a reprieve.
"Stop." Andre's voice was a gentle command, pulling Marcus back from his thoughts. He retreated just far enough to look into Marcus's eyes, his gaze as perceptive as ever. "Wherever you just went, come back."
"Sorry. I'm here." Marcus's voice was a whisper, a promise.
Andre studied him for a moment, his thumb tracing the line of Marcus's jaw in a soothing rhythm.
"You're doing inventory. I can see it happening behind your eyes.
" His voice held no accusation, only understanding.
"There's nothing to count, Marcus. Nobody's coming.
It's just us and about seven hours before either of us has to be anywhere. "
"I know that." Marcus's words were firm, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of uncertainty.
"Knowing it and believing it aren't the same thing." Andre's voice was soft as he leaned in to kiss Marcus again. This time, the kiss was slower, more deliberate. It was a lesson in patience and trust, teaching Marcus's body a new rhythm one kiss at a time. "So let me help you believe it."
And he did. Andre's words echoed in his mind as he allowed himself to be led through the apartment, each step taking him further away from his old habits and closer to a new reality as they shed their cloths.
A reality where there was no need for calculations, no looming threats.
Just them, in their quiet apartment, with nothing but time on their hands.
The work would continue, it had to because the need hadn't gone away nor was the world suddanly free of monsters.
But, the guillitine of Drakov was gone, and Marcus hadn't understood how that threat still out in the world had been a silent blade at his throat all this time.
The moment Marcus’s back hit the mattress, Andre’s mouth was on him like a starving man.
His lips traced the curve of Marcus’s throat, sucking, biting, leaving behind a trail of reddened skin that throbbed with the heat of his attention.
Marcus gasped, his hands clawing at the sheets as Andre’s tongue flicked over his pulse point, teasing every nerve until Marcus’s cock strained against the fabric of his boxers, leaking pre-cum like a faucet.
“Fuck,” Marcus hissed, his hips jerking up as Andre’s teeth scraped over his collarbone. “You’re gonna fucking kill me.”
Andre grinned against his skin, the fucker, his hands sliding down Marcus’s sides to grip his hips. “Not yet,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, the kind of sound that made Marcus’s stomach twist with want. “Not until I’ve had my fill of you.”
Marcus groaned, his head falling back against the pillows as Andre’s mouth moved lower, his tongue tracing the lines of Marcus’s chest, flicking over his nipples until they were hard and aching.
Andre sucked one into his mouth, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, and Marcus’s back arched off the bed, a strangled cry escaping his lips.
“Andre-” Marcus’s voice cracked, his fingers tangling in Andre’s dark curls, tugging hard. “Fuck, just… just get your mouth on me already.”
Andre chuckled, the bastard, but he didn’t waste any more time.
His hands slid down Marcus’s thighs, spreading them wide as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of Marcus’s boxers and pulled them down in one swift motion.
Marcus’s cock sprang free, thick and throbbing, precum dripping down the length of it.
Andre’s eyes darkened, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he leaned in, his breath hot against Marcus’s skin.