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Ever since William was dragged away from his reality, his dimension with his Mark, he had been held and hidden away with this variant. A sick, twisted man who just so happened to have an affinity for him.
To be held away and stowed as some sort of 'trophy wife', tasked only with listening and obeying. Of course, William put up a fight. He wasn't much of a stickler for rules, nonetheless being kidnapped to be adored by a psychotic version of his best friend. But this Mark.
Mark only played into it. Like some sick game of cat and mouse. With every insult thrown at him, Mark would only become more endearing. A shove here, he would hold William so gently yet vehemently after. A slap or scratch there, Mark would only admire how brazen William was to be so defiant. So heartless to his best friend, is what he would say.
How could I be so cruel to him?
It was a recurring thought William had. He figured over time, however long it's been since he got here, that he'd view this Mark as someone other than his best friend. As the horrendous monster he rightfully was. But it was hard. Hard to look passed the mask splattered with viscera, and when this variant would take it off, William could only see his Mark. Until he opened his mouth and smiled his sharp teeth down at him, the facade was broken, and William felt his hopes diminish. Hopes of ever getting to see his original Mark again.
It was disturbing to be seen at his worst and be cold towards Mark, only to be admired for it. William was repulsed by it, slowly stopping his estrangement towards Mark to avoid further encouragement. Since then, Mark held back, still belittling William or handling him whenever he pleased, but otherwise, the weird comments ceased.
Eventually, they both came to an impasse, slipping into a routine with each other gradually. Whether William liked it or not, or call it Stockholm syndrome even, William began to settle in. He thought of it as some sick roommate living situation. Except his 'roommate' was the worst of all roommates. Tracking in mud, blood, and other bodily fluids that were slimy and inhuman. Worst of all, he wouldn't even wash his own dishes.
If it weren't for William, this place would become a pigsty.
They worked around each other, or more so, William worked around Mark. Knowing how to play his cards right. Mark hadn't threatened him with his life, hanging it over William's head. That much was obvious, and William knew Mark's presence alone was more than enough of a threat. But Mark liked to toy with William. Tempting him, conveniently shutting down any thoughts of escape for William. How Mark had just so happened to forget to "lock" the door, mentioning it aloud before he left for the day. Or how the weather was so nice to be out and enjoy the sun. And Mark would stare long and hard at William, still smiling that placating smile that set William's blood cold.
As if he knew William had planned to run out that day. If he could read his mind.
Or to keep William on his toes around him, that much was possible. But William held a suspicion, a paranoid thought that even he couldn't escape his own mind from him.
Yet, when the two had nothing but time and the day was drawing nearer to the end, both of them settled into the common area and watched TV together. Like the air wasn't charged with tension. As if they could forget the fact that neither of them belongs in a setting of relaxation.
At first, it was strange and even hard to get comfortable for William. He felt like he always had to keep resisting, to keep pushing away any normalcy of his new life. But when William would watch this Mark from the corner of his eye, he could pretend to see his Mark. Pretend that all was right in the world and he really was hanging out with his best friend. He shared the same relaxed smile, the same laugh as his best friend. Even the same childlike semblance they had for their favorite comic book, funnily enough. William could just pretend he was back at his home. He could deal with that, for just a moment's peace.
William stopped in the middle of his cleaning, hearing a loud SLAM of the front door, broken out of his reverie.
Wringing the damp towel in his hands, William slowly crept towards the entrance, only expecting the worst. And sure enough, there stood a disoriented Mark, dripping in blood and gore. Surprisingly, some belonged to him, dribbling at a quick pace from the gash on his abdomen.
"Oh, shit-" William urgently rushed forward, ignoring every warning sign to stay put and away.
But at times like these, where he sees this Mark beat up, bleeding, and disheveled than he's ever seen him, William has a harder time differentiating him from his Mark, even though logically he knew they weren't the same. They would never be the same in a million years. Not that it would stop his heart from twinging at the sight of him hurt. William, of course, couldn't just stand there.
"Jesus, I just mopped," William groaned, wrapping Mark's arm around his shoulders to hoist him up, dragging him towards the couch up ahead.
That earned an exhausted laugh from the variant, only to cough up more blood over his front and onto the tile below. William gently sat him down, now looking down at Mark as he quickly looked over the damage. Yep, he got fucked up bad. His suit was nearly torn to bits, vast areas shredded from huge slashes of claw marks. The blood pouring from Mark was pulsating, trickling ever so slowly onto the fabric down below. They'll have to get another couch.
"Dude, what happened?"
Mark tried to sit up, groaning against the pain, but William placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "Ugh, damn Rognarrs is what," Mark breathed out, as if William knew what the hell that was. He blinked up at William, the black-tinted goggles of his mask shattered, eyeing the rag in William's iron grip. "You gonna help or let me bleed out?" He smugly smirked, clenching his jaw as he shifted in place.
"Oh shit, yea. Uh-" William hovered over one of the huge wounds, unsure how to help. Despite becoming so used to the sight of Mark coming home covered in blood, William never had to clean him up for his wounds. They were never this bad, nor were most of the blood his. He only cleaned up the mess after Mark cleaned himself up, bleaching the shower and scrubbing away the dried blood stains left behind. Not like it was appreciated, but not that Mark would say anything about it.
Now he was in dangerous territory, being so close to his oppressor. He didn't have to help him. Actually, this was the perfect chance to make his escape, now that his assailant is wounded and could never catch up to him. Or at the very most, would buy him some time. William could figure out the rest or die trying, but he would be free. So why didn't he?
"You know I don't bite, Will." William was brought out of his thoughts, not realizing how his hands shook. Looking up, he peered into Mark's heavy eyes, watching his chest rise up and down slowly, as if each breath taken left him in agony. Mark reached out to clutch William's hand that held the towel in his gloved one, his thumb smearing more blood over William's knuckles. "Here, apply pressure here."
Mark guided William closer, pulling him to kneel over him. He instructed William on what to do, how hard to push down on the wound, no matter how much Mark groaned under the pain.
"I think you need a doctor, Mark. A hospital. Not a dirty rag that I was using to wipe the kitchen with," William was still shaking, even though he tried to stop. "I don't see why I would be much help."
"Mm, no. No need. I can heal fast. Besides," Mark leaned his head back languidly. "I love how you take care of me."
"Mark," William deadpanned. "This is a little more than taking care of you. I'm quite literally holding you together."
Mark smiled adoringly up at William, and William felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment. William couldn't tell how much blood loss Mark had bled out for him to be acting like this, or if whatever did this had poisoned him, leaving him in a high. He was about to say another quip to disengage from the heavy moment, but Mark persisted.
"Doesn't it feel amazing to hold the life of mine in your hands?"
"What?"
Mark slowly reached for William's hands, taking the blood-soaked rag from his hands and discarding it aside. Without wavering his gaze from Williams, he brought their clasped hands back towards the fresh wound, still steadily bleeding. William could only watch as Mark placed his hand down, morbidly curious as to what Mark had planned now.
"Don't you see the power you have over me? In this moment alone, where I'm at my weakest?" William swallowed, not understanding. Mark continued.
"Not many see me in such a state, nor live to. It's a weakness." Mark finally broke his piercing gaze, now down to the wound he had William cradling with his hand. With his gloved hand, Mark pushed down William's deeper into the laceration of his flesh. He let out a stifled whimper, groaning in pain, but a quick look up at Mark's flushed face told William otherwise. He looked to be enjoying it.
"Mark, what're you doing-"
"You're my weakness, Will."
William stuttered, shutting up from whatever he was going to say next. Mark only pushed William further into himself, panting beneath him as he watched him be fingers deep into his abdomen. William could only focus on the warmth, the wet of thick blood squishing against the walls of muscle as he flexed his fingers inside. He couldn't pull away, not because of Mark holding onto him. No, it was the sick fascination he was experiencing. William loved how Mark felt from the inside. He pressed deeper, earning a loud moan from the man beneath him.
"S-See?" Mark squirmed beneath William, angling himself for better access. "It feels good, doesn't it?"
"Shut up." William flexed his fingers again, now rubbing down hard. With each move, he twisted in deeper, now reaching down to the knuckle. Mark moaned aloud, clutching onto William's arms, but not to push him away. To bring him closer.
"Fuck, Will. Why are you so good to me? What did I ever do to deserve you?"
"Shut up. Shut up, shut up! This is sick, it's disgusting. You're disgusting!" William curled a finger, uncurled, and twisted deeper again, now moving with rigorous movements. He continued to watch as blood squirted out and flecked over his front, some even managing to splatter on his face. William didn't notice, or seemed to care, now feeling buried, pent-up emotions of his inner turmoil rose. He didn't see the look of awe Mark gazed up at him with.
Mark continued to breathily moan around the pain, letting William play with his guts. At this rate, Mark would probably need to be stitched up, but he couldn't stop the fun now. He finally had William where he wanted him, finally able to hear those lovely words he missed. They were so eerily similar to his William.
William was Mark's weakness. He meant it. It felt like such a relief to him to say it aloud, a weight off his shoulders. It was something he had thought over for years and years, before he even brought this William back home to his dimension.
Even then, all those years back, Mark couldn't accept it. Accept his feelings for his William. Not that they wouldn't be reciprocated, no, that wasn't the issue. It was the fact that it would be used against him, held as an advantage over that Mark couldn't allow that to happen. It was why Mark had to do what he had to: dispose of William.
It hurt, it wasn't easy. Mark didn't deal with it healthily, he'll admit. Took it upon other planets, other colonies, jeopardizing missions, and such caused from his pain. It took a decade to realize what he had done. That Will was gone, for good.
But he meets Angstrom, proposing with an offer, and it is like he was gifted a second chance. A chance to redeem what he deserved, his own happy ending.
Now, with William above him, straddling over his decrept body, Mark couldn't help but reach out, needing him closer. Never wanting to let go again. William stopped his ministrations, flinching back from Mark's touch, only to be embraced by the variant below.
"Ngh, Will- I'm so happy you're back, here with me in my arms," Mark buried his face in the crook of William's neck, muffling his grunts of pain and pleasure as he pressed in deeper, his whole hand nearly encompassed. Before William could move to push himself away, Mark latched on tighter, growling with need. "Can't you see how beautiful you look covered in my blood?"
"This is wrong, all fucked up."
'You're fucked up,' William wanted to say, but he didn't know who he was talking about anymore.
"If it's so wrong, why does it feel right?"
William couldn't stop himself from cringing, disgusted not only from the warm blood that clung to him heavily, but how right Mark was. It felt god awful, to be so into this sick game Mark held him in. To release all his anger onto him and not feel any remorse for doing so, in fact, encouraged him to do more. Yet, the sense of power William held over Mark, it gave him immense satisfaction to be the one on top now. To be on an even playing field.
The sensation of a warm, wet tongue interrupted William's thoughts, stopping his movements as he turned to see what it was. Mark moved along William's jaw, lapping up the blood that splattered across William's cheek. His eyes, though looking dazed from the amount of blood loss he had, still held the same intensity of want and longing since the very first day they crossed paths.
"Will, you can have a taste. Plenty to go around," Mark was giggling, shaking now out of delirium. He slowly pulled away to grab for William's hand, the one so deep in him, feeling the meat part away and leave an even bigger gaping hole. William couldn't help but watch, purely dazed by the deep, dark, beautiful red that continued to blossom against his pale skin. His eyes trailed up to where Mark was guiding his hands, close to his lips. William noticed Mark was now crying, tears dripping down, and he couldn't tell if due to the pain or ecstasy.
Mark placed William's pointer finger on the crevice of his lips, smearing his own blood across.
"Look, I'll go first."
Licking up the digit, Mark worked his way up slowly, never breaking any eye contact with William. Then he began to suck, drinking in the metallic iron. He began to twirl his tongue around the digit, the tip playing softly against William's fingers.
William was awestruck by the scene playing before him, not interrupting this sick, twisted form of affection. He began to explore the inside of Mark's mouth, curiosity getting the best of him again. He followed the grooves of his molars, noticing how sharp Mark's incisors were. Mark bit down suddenly, pricking the skin and drawing blood. William hissed in pain, flinching his fingers back, but Mark held on before William could move.
"I bite just a little," Mark grinned mischievously. "Only fair if I get a taste of yours."
"Ugh, you're insufferable." William leaned in closer, squishing Mark's cheeks with the hand he slobbered over, startling him. "I'll give you what you want, fucking creep."
William smashed their lips together, clinking their teeth in tandem, but he didn't care. The smell of iron flooded his senses, their tongues intertwining with each other. Mark moaned into the heated kiss, whining to be closer and begging to grind against William, despite his side flaring in pain.
Their passionate making out was messy. Saliva dribbled down Mark's chin, mingling with the blood that filled his mouth. William was fervent with his kiss, not letting Mark a chance to breathe. He was drunk on the juxtaposition alone from being the one to will Mark and do as he pleased. How easily he could unravel the man below him, despite his omnipotence.
William broke the kiss, leaning back on his haunches, the pair both panting heavily. Mark was left awestruck at the sight of William and how his own blood was smeared across his lips. Matching perfectly with the blush that powdered his cheeks. William was truly beautiful, ethereal even.
"You really are pathetic, Mark." William leered down at him, and it only brought out the worst in Mark even more. He must've said it aloud, the blood loss now getting to him. But it was all worth it, he loved the attention he was getting from the one that mattered the most.
"You make me pathetic, Will. I am what you make of me," Mark breathless rasped, his lips raw from the friction of their kiss.
"Now, make me yours."
William felt his chest heavy, and he couldn't decipher whether it was between hatred or longing. But the way Mark looked up at him with want, even though he continued to bleed out all over the couch that they for sure had to throw out now, Mark continued to look up at him with such devotion. As if he were the only thing with significance, even more so than his own life. William loved it, that sick, sadistic side of him he quelled down.
"With pleasure."