Archive of Our Own

In determining whether the act committed is reasonable in the circumstances, the court shall consider the relevant circumstances of the person, the other parties, and the act...

Mark doesn't mean for Christian to see, is the thing.

(He's pretty sure Seb doesn't want it either, but what Seb wants doesn't particularly matter at this moment.)

Through the cracks of Mark's fingers, just barely able to escape the white-knuckled grip the older man has over his mouth and chin, Seb makes a horribly pitiful sound. He's not unlike a dog being browbeaten into submission, with the way he scrabbles weakly at Mark's arm around his waist, leaving pink lines anywhere he can reach. Despite the struggle, Mark has no doubt that Seb isn't trying much at all; between his legs, he's spilling wetness at the tip of his tiny cock in some hideous display of arousal. With every lacklustre attempt to thrash out of Mark's hold, he spurts onto the floor, only narrowly missing the fireproofs and overalls crumpled around his knees.

The oddest part is that Christian doesn't say anything, not at first. Mark has his teeth in Seb's shoulder, biting hard enough to draw blood, while he ruts dryly along the crack of Seb's ass—his attention isn't fixed on the door until Christian casually remarks:

"So this is what you boys get up to when I'm not looking."

And Mark imagines that he looks something like a beast, his head snapping up immediately to see the other man in the doorway, his canines bared and dripping with what should be golden ichor, but really just looks and tastes as red as any other person in the paddock.

"Get out," he snaps. He sounds monstrous too, his voice stripped of anything intelligibly human as he chokes on iron and skin.

Beneath his hands, Seb shudders violently, and pushes his ass back against Mark's cock, whining and keening all the while.

"I think Sebastian would like to say something," Christian responds coolly, before strolling into the room like it's a team meeting and not a PR disaster in action. Behind him, the door shuts quietly.

He crouches in front of them the way angels descend to earth to mete out punishment.

Reluctantly, Mark gives Seb some slack, shifting his hand until the blond is able to draw in a deep breath and form words.

"Mm," he manages, vibrating like an engine about to explode, "M-messe' uh."

Mark ruts harder against Seb's ass, just to hear him squeal.

"What's that, baby."

The old endearment draws deeper lines in the trenches between them. Sometimes, it feels like the earth will fall in two.

"Messe'—duh." The last word is a forced sound, a scream ripped out of Seb's vocal cords.

Things take a turn for the worse: Christian leans in close, and gently draws Seb's hair out of his eyes.

"You messed up, did you?" His voice is as soft as his touch looks, tinged with something inscrutable. "Put yourself above the team?"

With a sudden, obscene moan, Seb comes. The faint splatter of his ejaculate against the laminate floor is a sound that'll be etched in Mark's ears for the rest of his life.

He can't help it, the purely animal response to having his lover fall apart in his arms—he pushes Seb's pliant body down into its own filth, and with his hands freed, squeezes the soft flesh of Seb's thighs tight around his dick to fuck.

Christian doesn't even blink, simply standing and stepping to the side to avoid collision.

"Or maybe you mean you've made a mess of yourself," he sniffs.

The silence is broken only by the wet, snapping sounds of Mark against Seb, and feels all the more suffocating for it. Mark can only watch as the blond shakily snakes his hand back, and leaves it holding Mark's wrist.

"Not sorry," says Seb eventually. He sounds like the asshole Mark knows and hates again.

But it seems to be the right answer for Christian. "Wouldn't have signed you otherwise," he states, matter-of-fact.

And fucking finally, he turns to leave. He walks out of the room as casually as he made his way in, only pausing in the doorway as if to say some grandiose, parting word—but he wisely chooses not to. Any other thing out of his mouth would've probably resulted in his guts getting clawed out by Mark's perfectly maintained fingernails. A person is not guilty of an offence if the act that constitutes the offence is committed for the purpose of defending or protecting themselves—

Only, all the adrenaline seems to leave Mark's body in an instant when Christian disappears from sight, dirty bathwater swirling down a drain. His hips still, and disgust threatens to upend the contents of his stomach.

Of course their golden boy gets forgiven, despite it all. of course. What does Mark think he's even playing at, trying to batter Seb into submission? A stronger, better man would ignore the siren's call, would steer his ship to safer waters.

Around his wrist, Seb's grip tightens, ever so slightly.

"Mark." He twists in place to meet Mark's gaze.

Like this, with his blue eyes wide and pleading, with his bottom lip out in a helpless pout, he looks every bit like the boy he was from 2009, whose kisses tasted like sunshine and strawberries.

Hastily, Mark stumbles away, the vision cruel enough to tear his eyes from their sockets. He comes to a stop at the wall—claimants must retreat to the wall before they can kill their assailant—and leans against it heavily. It's an embarrassing position to be caught in, awkwardly balanced on his aching knees with his dick out and limp. There's not a thing a lesser man would do differently; Mark is at rock bottom.

"Forget about it," he mumbles, clumsily pulling his own fireproofs and overalls up.

But Seb's not done, his voice gaining strength as he gathers himself together, gingerly picking himself up from the wet mess around him. "I didn't mean to—"

"Forget about it." Mark repeats, harsher this time, and finally finds the wherewithal to stand.

"If it wasn't you." There's desperation in Seb's words, something crazed in his eyes.

Mark can't look at his face without wanting to do something that'll land him in jail with charges for second-degree murder on his record.

"But it was," he says, with more care than he'd thought possible of himself.

Across from him, Seb shuts his mouth, allowing the earth to settle firmly on the lines between sebandmark and seb and mark. It feels not unlike dirt being poured into a grave.

... including, but not limited to, the following factors: