All Is Hell That Ends With ‘Fair’(Closed ~ One-on-One ~ Rated a possible M)

Marx scowled, standing. He pulled Marcus into his side and pressed a rough kiss to his head.
The smaller, Ginger-haired male let him, too petrified to do anything against him.
But his eyes pleaded for help, for safety.

“Ah. That’s why you’re here. You’re the one killing that doctor, right? Marcy’s making sure you’re doing it. I remember that.” He hummed, wiping what looked mysteriously like blood into his pants.

"Yeah, that's right," Cyrus replied, hoping Marx didn't know about their history as lovers, "I'll have him gone in the next few days. Just gotta wait for the right time."
His eyes wandered to Marx's hand, then snapped away, up to Marcus. Cyrus felt his blood absolutely boiling. He didn't want this guy to touch him anymore, yet now wasn't the time to let his emotions get the best of him. If he shot that gun, other apartment residents would hear. Or maybe he would react in time. Cyrus ran a hand through his hair. He was feeling awkward. Did he stick around? Leave? He most certainly didn't want to leave Marcus to the whims of that bastard.

“We’re doing work right now, M-Marx… can I continue?” Marcus squeaked out, flinching when Marx dug his fingers into his hair. Marx grinned at the flinch, leaning over to whisper something into Marcus’s ear which only made the other pale to a ghostly white.

“Yes you can, continue, Marcy. Come to me after you’ve completed this hit. I want to see you personally.” He gave Cyrus a twisted smile and released Marcus, letting the ginger stumble away.
“I expect a full report from you Marcus.”

With that, the gang leader left through the front door, bumping shoulders with Cyrus. He smelled of blood and gunpowder and cigarettes. Not a pleasant mix.

Cyrus' gaze flickered over to Marx as he bumped shoulders.
"Hey, don't you fucking touch me, buddy" he muttered under his breath, instinctively reaching out one hand to put firmly on Marx's shoulder.
He could feel heat rising in his face, yet he found himself tightening his hand over the other's shoulder aggressively. Cyrus didn't know he had this attitude in him, yet when he saw Marx touch Marcus like that…

Something wild and bloodthirsty filled Marx’s eyes. He turned to look at Cyrus curiously, his black eyes running up and down the other’s form.
“Such a bad attitude. Charming but childish. Your father’s the same way.” Marx let his eyes drift to a shocked and shivering Marcus next, smirking.
“Are you upset with me for what I said to my Marcy? Don’t be. He likes it, don’t you slut?”

He tried to close his mouth, he really did, but Marcus found himself instinctively responding with a very soft: “Yessir… I do…”

"You sick son of a bitch! Don't you have any respect for other human beings?" Cyrus growled deep in his throat, "If you were wise, you'd at least have the decency to know who you're talking to. And not to treat anyone that way in my presence. It's disgusting and unprofessional."
His grip tightened even more, but his palms were sweating and his whole body was trembling. Marx could almost definitely feel it or see it.
Cyrus was bigger than him… maybe he could take him… maybe that was just him fantasizing.

“Only for the ones who matter.” Came the cold reply. “Unprofessional? Oh it might be. But you’re below me. I don’t owe you anything.” Marx’s face split into a wide and wicked grin as he reached up to grab Cyrus’s wrist.

“What are you going to do about it!? You’re trembling, hun~ Finish what you came here to do and go back to your gang. You have no business here telling me what’s right and what isn’t. If you want Marcy so bad, I’ll be more than happy to lend him to you. The bitch does good in bed, listens to every word you say and enjoys it~ He lets anyone bed him.”

Marcus squeezed his eyes shut, trembling from head to toe. He didn’t want Cyrus to know that. Marx ‘lent’ him out for favors at times. It was humiliating, disgusting. He hated it. But he took it all, too much of a coward to do anything about it.

Cyrus was crumbling.
"Shut up…" he muttered, "SHUT UP!"
He snapped his wrist away and drew his hands back, holding them together to keep from throwing any punches, as much as he wanted to. He drew back into the doorway and put his right hand on the door to make like he was closing it, while his left fumbled for his gun.

Marcus saw what was about to happen and panicked. He instinctively moved between the two, grabbing Cyrus’s sleeve. “Not here…” he breathed. “Let him leave, please… not here, Cyrus.” He slid his hand down Cyrus’s arm, taking the gun from his hand and shaking his head softly. His hand didn’t release the other’s sleeve, in fact Marcus clung to it in desperation.

Marx stared at his plaything, a mix of envy and pride swelling in his chest. “Look at that. He’s only loyal to me, Cyrus. He does what I trained him to do, what I tell him to do. As long as you carry out your hit, I’ll let you play with Marcy.”

Cyrus felt the breath leave his lungs, and his grip on the gun loosened. He tried to search for words, but when he started to speak, he felt like he was choking and got nothing out.
Cyrus stared blankly out the door into Marx's dark eyes. They were different, yet so much like Lazarus'. So full of hate, and that sort of superiority that lead one believe that everyone else was their mere puppet. Silently he hoped Marcus would finish deescalating the encounter, as Cyrus was stuck in a state where he couldn't move nor speak.

Marcus slowly pocketed the gun and released Cyrus. “Thank you…” he whispered, turning back to his tormentor. “Marx… it’d be better for you to leave. I’ll make sure he understands.”

The black-eyed devil merely grinned. He gestured Marcus over and stole a quick kiss, murmuring a threat to the smaller male. Marcus only nodded before he opened the door and let his leader leave.
It was only after the door had been locked did Marcus break.

He slid down the door to his hands and knees, bursting into heavy sobs. “I’m sorry…! I was a coward again. I couldn’t let you kill him, I couldn’t… a part of me wants to believe he’s still a good person like he was when I first met him. I know he’s not… he gives me away like I’m nothing.”

Cyrus leaned up against the wall, trying to take deep breaths. He slid down next to Marcus and put a shaky hand on his shoulder, trying to offer some reassurance despite the fact he couldn't speak. He tried to quiet his breathing so as not to upset Marcus more, but he could only do so much.
Cyrus moved so he could hold the other closer, for both of their comfort, yet he was shaking so badly that he wasn't sure Marcus would appreciate it. Cyrus, on the other hand, needed his touch to ground himself.

Marcus wrapped his arms around Cyrus and stayed there, just wanting a comforting touch. He couldn’t take anymore rough touches or forced actions. He just wanted to be held and cuddled and told he was loved.
Was that too much to ask?
Or was this all his own fault? He had just admitted he cared for that monster of a human. Was he twisted? Did he like the pain? Did he like being forced into the bed?
“I’m scared…” He whispered into Cyrus’s chest. He knew the other was scared too, knew he was probably in shock. But he still spoke, wanting to make sure the other understood what was going on.
Everyone always told him that communication was the way to make something work.
He never really had believed them.
“What if I’m everything he says I am, Cyrus? I just stopped you from killing him. Is there something wrong with me…?”

Cyrus shook his head at the last question, taking shuddering, quick, shallow breaths. He gripped the other tightly- not in a possessive manner, but as an "I need you. Please don't go."
"You… were right…" Cyrus choked out, but this was all he managed before his throat felt too tight to speak again.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured, drawing shapes into Cyrus’s back in an attempt to ground himself.
The actions felt soothing for a moment, but they didn’t fix the ache in his chest.
They didn’t stop the constant flow of tears either.

It took what felt like hours before Marcus calmed himself down, using Cyrus as his rock. “C-can we go to the bed…? I want to lay down.”

Cyrus nodded slowly.
"Yeah… Let's do that," he replied.
His voice cracked really hard; this was the first time he had spoken in a while, and it didn't feel great. He placed a hand on Marcus' head, then used the wall to support both of them getting up and moving to the bedroom.
"I'm sorry…" he said, "I don't know what came over me… I- uh… s-sorry…"

Marcus pressed a soft kiss to Cyrus’s cheek, shaking his head. “Don’t apologize, Cyrus. It wasn’t your fault. A lot just happened.” He murmured, his own voice broken and cracked from misuse.
“I’m really sorry you had to confront him.”

"But I didn't… I didn't have to do that…" Cyrus whispered, "I should've kept my mouth shut. It's not like I don't know how. It's just… seeing him treat you like that filled me with rage. Then I couldn't even back that up properly… It must have been fucking pathetic to watch me slip into a panic attack… again. I just hope he's not harder on you because of me. I would never forgive myself."

“You’re the first to stand up for me…” Marcus clutched at Cyrus’s shirt, stopping them both.
“And for that I’m so grateful, Cyrus. You weren’t pathetic. It didn’t look pathetic. Not to me. Thank you for standing up for me.” Marcus gently took the larger male’s hands, linking their fingers together.
“Even if he is harder on me, I won’t care. I have you here. You don’t need to blame yourself because I’ll get through it as long as you’re with me.”

Cyrus gritted his teeth, and hot tears started spilling down his cheeks.
"Of course. I will always stand up for you," Cyrus promised, "Never for myself, but for you, I'll make an exception."
He lowered his head.
"So um… I know Marx knows I was about to attack him. Did he see the gun? Also… I'm grateful you didn't let me shoot him. It was not a good time or place."

“Come here,” Marcus murmured, gently cupping Cyrus’s face and pulling him down. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.” He kissed the lines of tears spilling down his face, ignoring his own tears.
“No, I don’t think he saw the gun. If he had, you would not be… here. I know it wasn’t the right time or place too. Too many people live around here. We would have all gone to prison, and for a long time too. I’d rather see you every second of my day than to see you only during prison lunch hours.” He mused, trying to crack a joke to ease the tension.
He quickly sobered up, however, and wiped away the tears on Cyrus’s cheeks. “I met you two days ago, Cyrus, but I’ve never been more sure of anything else in my life: I’ve fallen in love with you. You can call it trauma bonding or tell me it’s too soon to say but I’m certain that I love you. I don’t care if it’s because I’m deeply flawed or because I’m broken. I love you.”

"I don't think it's too soon," Cyrus said, managing a little smile through the tears, "I love you too. We're both broken, and while love won't fix it, you and I have this level of understanding already because of our shared brokenness, you know?"
He pressed his nose to Marcus', then shuddered a bit.
"But Marx… some of his tactics and mannerisms aren't so far off from my father's. It was like looking into his eyes again. How much does the guy know about me anyway? I can't really know how much the old man shares about me, since I'm not well-trusted."

A soft nod was Marcus’ response. His hands remained at Cyrus’ face, grounding him to the one who made him feel less broken.
“Thank you for being here for me. I’ll be here for you too.”
His eyes slipped closed as their noses bumped together and Marcus soon found himself pressed up against the other.
“He knows enough to understand you’re not completely into what you do. He talks about it sometimes. He says a lot of things to me while he’s getting his frustrations out.”

“There’s no telling what other dirt he has on me,” Cyrus sighed, “But I suppose that’s not for me to concern myself over right now. I just want to focus on you.”
He pressed his lips firmly against Marcus’ and drew him into a long, loving kiss.

“Let’s try and not think about it. We both need to relax.” He replied, smiling at the other.
Marcus purred at the loving kiss, melting into Cyrus’s chest. He felt warm and fuzzy, and just a bit electric

Cyrus’ lips formed a slight smile, and he continued kissing Marcus, using his hands to comfortingly touch him. His body was still a little shaky from the whole ordeal, but that couldn’t be helped.

Marcus tangled his fingers into Cyrus’s hair with a delighted sigh. He preferred this soft, loving kiss far more than the rough and bruising kisses he usually received from Marx. It felt good to be held like this. He didn’t want to leave it.

Cyrus felt a chill run up his spine. Marx would probably be furious if he only knew how Cyrus was actually treating Marcus. He imagined the searing jealousy, and it was an almost nice thought. Amusing at least.
He tilted his head a bit so he could press his face closer and sink further into the kiss. His arms wrapped around Marcus’ waist in a firm, reassuring grip.
“My god, I love you so much,” Cyrus cooed, “I love everything about you…”

Marcus let out a happy sigh, pressing himself flush against Cyrus as the kiss deepened. If the soft touch of Cyrus before hadn’t soothed him, this kiss sure did.

“I love you too… I love how gentle you are with me, how much you care for me.” He couldn’t help the giggle that fell from his lips as he playfully nipped at Cyrus’s lower lip.

Cyrus giggled to himself as well.
“Of course. You’re so soft and loving… and you’re so understanding. I really appreciate it,” he said, “Not to mention, you’re incredibly sexy.”