Chapter Text
Marvin waited quietly, trying not to fidget. The sun had been down for hours now, the residual warmth long gone, and the chill was creeping in under his furs, despite the thick cloak he wore. The tip of his nose stung in the sporadic breeze, and he would bet his cheeks were wind chilled pink at this point, ruddy and ugly, but whatever. The mask hid them well enough.
"Are you warm enough?" His mother asked him, turning to wrap her own cloak over his shoulder, but Marvin ducked out of it with a polite little bow.
"I'm fine," he promised, offering her a reassuring smile. Her panther mask hid most of her face from him, but Marvin had spent much of his childhood learning to read her expression through it, and he knew she was worried.
Of course she was. What mother wouldn't be when she was about to sell her son to a warlord?
The camp around them was quieter than war camps Marvin had been in before. There was no yelling, or the clang of weapons, save for a few men they'd passed practicing spear throws when they first entered the camp. It was mostly talking, quiet conversation, and occasional laughter, which wasn't . . . exactly what he'd expected out of this place.
Most of the men nearby ignored them, eyes downcast and focused on some other tasks, but Marvin caught more than a few lingering eyes. It wasn't hard to see why. Even under the dull, heavy traveling cloaks they donned, his family still stood out starkly amongst the crowd here, most of them northerners with pale skin, and dark eyes, decked out in the simple reds and browns of mercenary bands.
Even with the cloak covering most of him, Marvin had more colors on display than he'd seen in the entire camp. The slim gold bangles jangling on his forearms. The engraved green leather that circled his wrists and ran down to loop around his middle fingers. The shining gold band, inset with chips of gemstone color, keeping his hair in a bun, a dozen delicate chains running from it into his vibrant green hair, and up to his mask.
And the mask. No one here wore one, faces bare and naked, expressions raw for anyone who chose to look. He'd met enough northerners (and a few from west across the sea) that it wasn't as surprising to see bare faces here, but he couldn't help the way it made him want to stare. His own mask was a point of pride for him, pristine and pretty and familiar. A shining white thing, with pretty gold trim, delicate filigree across his cheeks, and the insignia of Argus on his forehead, the symbols of the four regions that made up the nation, made of inset gemstones and lined with gold, denoting him as a lower Prince.
It was in simple contrast to his mother's, his a softer cat rather than her panther, and white where hers was black. His father's was a sleek black crow, with gold twined into the feathers, and his brother and sister had taken on birds as well after him.
Marvin had always liked the street cats that snuck around the castle better than hawks and eagles.
"He's making us wait." Marvin's father's voice was gruff under his mask, his chin tucked down into his feather-lined furs as he glowered at the massive tent they stood outside of.
"Perhaps he's busy," his mother said softly, placing a hand gently on his elbow.
"No. He's doing this on purpose. He wants to humiliate us."
Marvin cringed at that. It wasn't like this wasn't already humiliating enough. What they'd come to do. It seemed pointless to try to add more.
But his mother hummed, and tilted her head to the side, voice dropping as she spoke quietly to her husband.
"Then he wants us angry when we meet him," she said softly, turning her head so she spoke more to his shoulder, her lips usually visible under her mask now hidden by her mate's cloak. "The more emotional we are, the better for him."
His father cut his eyes to her, humming back low, considering.
"Well, it's working."
"It won't be long," she said gently, turning back to look out over the camp again, smiling politely. "I'm sure he doesn't mean to offend. Not when we bring such a gift."
She said it softly, simply, but Marvin knew her well enough to see the tightness in her lips, in the grip she had on his father's elbow still.
She hated this.
Well, let's be fair. Everyone had hated it. From the moment Marvin had suggested it a moon ago, sitting around his family's grand council table, struggling to look his father in the eye as he suggested a solution that might save them.
That's what this was, really. It wasn't a question of if they liked the idea. It might work. It might save their lives, and the countless more under their care.
What was the discomfort of a family in the face of that?
His mother hid it well, with her polite, effortless smile. His father hid it in angry words and wounded pride.
His brother hadn't hidden it at all. Marvin selfishly wished he had. It would have been nice to have Jackie with him for this.
"Hail!" a voice cried out, loud over the relative quiet of the camp, and Marvin had to fight the urge to jerk in surprise as a man bounded up to join them. He was young, maybe in his early 20s, with short-cropped hair and a too-big smile. He wore an extravagantly engraved suit, a sharp leather vest with intricate patterns over a pretty silk shirt.
He'd look like a southerner, if not for his naked face, and shockingly dark eyes.
"Hail," Marvin's father said back, with only a hint of uncertainty. It wasn't a common greeting in the north or south, something more common across the sea, but the man seemed to barrel past it easily.
"The Argonian royalty, yes? King and Queen and the Princeling, yes, lovely, lovely to meet you." The man spoke fast, in a loud, confident voice, and his teeth seemed to flash with every word. "I'm Bim, you may call me Bim, and I am the Host of the Host."
The King paused, a short smile on his face as he seemed to try to process that. "I am . . . unfamiliar with that title," he said finally, putting a polite, questioning lilt to his voice, even as Marvin could see his jaw tightening.
"Ah, yes, you wouldn't call them hosts, would you? Well, no bother, I am what you might call the voice of the army. I speak to Dark for the men, and to the men for Dark."
Dark. Something liquid and cold shivered down Marvin's spine at his name, said so casually, like they were old friends, when that name had meant nothing but danger and fear for him for the last 6 years.
"I also," Bim continued, making a grand gesture, towards the massive test before them, beckoning them forward. "Introduce guests."
"You must have quite a lot keeping you busy," the King said stiffly, and Bim laughed.
"Oh, here and there, yes, sure. Come along now, he is waiting on you."
Marvin saw the moment his father was going to refuse. He'd never seen anyone treat him this way before. Brisk and careless and airy, like he was talking to a merchant who'd been late instead of the King. But his mother reached out, gently placing her hand over her mate's arm, and offered the strange man a smile.
"We're pleased to finally meet him," she said back graciously, and Bim flashed her a smile that made Marvin's stomach flip.
Were his teeth sharpened?
He had only a minute to ponder it before they were being led to the tent, the flap thrown back, and Marvin's stomach flipped again, lower, stronger, as he realized he was about to meet him.
Dark.
When Marvin was younger, young enough that his only concerns were sparring with Jackie and trying to rope their sister into more and more elaborate pranks, Dark had been something of a joke in his home. Marvin had a vivid memory of sitting at the private dining table on a weekend morning, eating breakfast and throwing orange peels at his siblings as his father joked with one of the advisors about the warlord known as the Darkwolf.
The title "warlord" was laughable, his father said. He was just a child, hardly old enough to lead a stockyard, much less an army. He'd be dead inside the year, he'd said.
His father had been wrong. Within the very same year, Dark had taken the merchant city of Casus, and dethroned the merchant kings of neighboring Ephesus and Caol. In the years to come, the man his father had called a boy grew to conquer land larger than their own kingdom by magnitudes, tearing down monarchies and replacing them with systems of his own. He led an army that was said to fill the valleys they marched through, like a flood, ready to wash over even the strongest of holds.
He didn't barter.
He couldn't be bought.
He took what he wanted.
When he'd taken the great coastal city of Ar, it was obvious his next target would be either Argus or their neighbor Merismuth. Merismuth had long held an impressive army, a military state with its fair share of warrior kings. Argus, on the other hand, was an old kingdom, smaller and kept safe by strong relations with other countries. It had once been a mage kingdom, sitting high in the mountains overlooking Merismuth.
An opportune position to be in if one wanted to take the larger kingdom.
It was obvious which Dark would choose to start with. Argus had a handful of moons, if they were lucky, before they fell to the host Dark brought with him.
Until Marvin had had an idea.
It might not work. For all Marvin knew, once he entered that tent, he might never leave it again.
But there was hope. He knew there was.
Because not every country or city Dark traveled to fell to him. When he traveled to meet the king of Perik, he left amicably after a feast thrown for him and his men. And the merchant king Osmus gifted him arms, beautiful weapons built by master craftsman, some it was said Dark still personally used. And while no one knew what had transpired when Dark traveled to the quiet kingdom of Tachul, not a drop of blood was spilled by the time Dark left.
They said he couldn't be bought, but obviously those places had given him something, some reason not to fight them.
Marvin was betting on that. Marvin was betting on the fact that he could offer him something valuable enough to overlook the small kingdom that was his home.
The fact that he was hoping to look the Darkwolf in the eye and offer himself in trade was something he'd tried not to think about much before this moment.
It was warm inside the tent. Warm and dark, only dim lighting being offered by a few candles, and a magefyre burning off to one side, soft blue-ish light dancing over the tent walls. A heavy table sat in the middle of the space, with rough-hewn legs and intricate carvings over its face, covered in parchment and a few furs. More furs lined the ground, a plush carpet that warmed Marvin's feet even through his boots, as he stepped into the space.
There was only one chair at the table, simple but heavy, sat at the far end.
And in it sat the man known as the Darkwolf.
Marvin had seen a few portraits of him before. He'd been around long enough that his image was well known by many, and tales of him stretched far and wide, descriptions both outlandish and believable spreading through simple tavern talk and bard songs. They always talked of the intensity of his gaze, the absolute blackness of his hair, his eyes, the power in his voice. The physical descriptions were more varied, powerful warrior to sharp spellcaster to some lithe pretty thing the way night stories liked to do.
Marvin found all of them lacking.
Dark sat back in his chair like it had been built around him. He wasn't the massive warrior Marvin had expected him to be, filling the space with brutish, rough strength. Nor was he the extravagant leader some had made him out to be, wearing a simple black shirt, open at the neck, tucked into simple black leather pants, the kind of outfit one wore under a coat and thick winter cloak, like the one draped over the back of his chair. The crown some claimed he wore was nowhere to be seen, and his thick hair fell in messy waves over his face as he read over a scrap of parchment in front of him.
He wasn't any of the wild things Marvin had expected of him. And still his mouth went dry when he saw him. He couldn't say what it was that made his legs feel weak, something coiling deep in the pit of his stomach and making him want to grit his teeth, but it stole the breath from him.
Maybe it was how much he hated him.
He'd hated him since he'd seen the first refugees from Ephesus. Since he'd first traveled with his family to meet with the broken merchant's guild of Casus. Since he'd first visited the ruins that had once been Caol.
He hated every breath this man took.
And now here he was. Sitting not a dozen feet from him.
Ignoring them.
Marvin wasn't an idiot. He'd been trained for intricate games of the court since he was old enough to hold a quill, and it took no master courtsmith to see Dark's attitude towards him and his family couldn't be more blatantly disrespectful. Making the royal family wait outside, in a war camp, in the frigid winter, with hardly an escort to keep them company. Ignoring their entrance when they were finally brought to see him, not even standing in their presence.
He hadn't even bothered to clean up the mess of furs and scrolls on the table.
Marvin hated him. His arrogance, and his disrespect, but more than anything, he hated what he stood for. An unrestrained, unaffiliated power, taking what he could because he could. Killing and burning simply for the sake of it. Because he had the power to do so.
It was why Marvin had suggested this idea to his family in the first place. What was the humiliation of being sold like chattel when he could be the one to kill this man?
"The Argonians, Dark," Bim said in a conversational tone, waving at them to stay there as he crossed to where Dark sat, leaning over his shoulder to look at the parchment in the warlord's hand.
"I noticed," Dark answered back, and Marvin grit his teeth, taking in a slow breath through his nose as his stomach coiled again at the sound of his voice. Dark took a moment to finish whatever he was reading, before handing it off to Bim. "See that that gets to Wilford."
"I'll get a bird to him," Bim hummed, and then ducked out the other side of the tent, leaving them alone, with only the flicker of the magefyre between them.
When Dark's eyes finally turned to them, they slid over his parents like they were hardly there, straight past them to where Marvin stood, and Marvin was never as happy to have his mask as a barrier than he was then.
"You wanted to see me," Dark said. Not a question. A statement. Flat, without any grandstanding, or flourish.
A beat of silence, and Marvin could feel the rage coming off his father, though his voice was well-restrained.
"Yes," the King answered back, stiffly, but he had the good grace to give a royal bow, the shortened version of the southern gesture to others of significant rank.
More than Dark deserved.
"And what did you want?" Dark asked, not returning the bow, not even standing from his seat. His eyes hadn't left Marvin.
"We've heard many tales of you, Darkwolf," his mother said, graciously, stepping forward so that she stood at the foot of the table, finally drawing Dark's eye. "We were pleased to have the chance to meet you personally."
Dark's mouth curled up into something just bordering on a smile, soft and dangerous, and Marvin swallowed.
"A pity we couldn't have this meeting in the warmth of your great hall," Dark said back smoothly, and Marvin could see his father's hand clench around his cloak. If Dark had come traveled to their kingdom, they would likely be dead, and everyone here knew it. That was how it usually went, anyway.
"The warmth of your war tent is more than enough, I should think," his father answered back evenly, and Dark gave him that half-smile again, soft and sharp at the same time.
"And what brings the good King of Argus to my war tent on such a cold night?"
"We wished to bid you welcome to these fair lands," his mother said. "Perhaps hear tale of your grand exploits across the soft sea-"
"My exploits across the soft sea would not fit in one night, I'm afraid," Dark cut across her, offering her a sharper smile now. "Nor am I yet on lands that you could bid me welcome to."
The Queen faltered for a moment, carefully schooling her face under her panther mask as she worked to match the warlord's harsh pace, but he continued before she had a chance.
"Please," he said, his voice sounding more like a cat's purr than a plea as he gestured out with one hand. "Excuse my bluntness. I understand your . . . people-" he said the word like an insult. "-enjoy your wordcraft. But I don't have the time to indulge in them. I have many . . . matters to attend to."
His eyes slid back to Marvin as he spoke, briefly, and Marvin thought maybe that was a good sign.
"If you don't mind me cutting to the chase?" Dark continued, turning back to his parents and giving them both that sharp smile again.
His mother recovered first.
"By all means."
"You are a small kingdom. Old mage blood, no longer strong enough to defend your borders on strength alone. Your allies will not risk rising against me when they may yet escape my notice as they strengthen their own hosts. Your capital offers an ideal position to launch an invasion of the much more powerful kingdom of Merismuth, with whom you hold no alliance. You are alone and out of options, with an overwhelming host at your doorstep."
And Dark's smile grew into something crooked and breathtaking.
"You've come to barter for your lives."
Silence filled the tent. Marvin saw his mother's hand twitch, fighting the urge to clench her fist as his father had. The heat in Marvin's stomach boiled, hot and angry and something, and it was so hard, so very hard, not to lash out just then.
He hated him. He hated him, he hated him, he hated him.
"Yes," the King answered finally, tightly, and Dark leaned back farther in his seat, satisfied.
"And what do you offer me?"
Marvin didn't wait for the invitation. He stepped forward, joining his parents at the end of the table and forcing himself to dip his head politely as Dark turned his attention on him again.
It was so hard to be quiet. To be demur, and soft, and submissive. It was so important if this was to work. If Dark was to believe him to be what he wanted. But, gods, he wanted to be anything but.
He wanted to dig his nails into that face until he was blinded by his own blood. Wanted to take his tongue, break the bones in his fingers, wrap his hands around the man's neck and snap it with sheer force of will.
He stayed quiet though, and let his mother speak for him.
"I'd like to introduce you to our son, Marvin, Prince of Argus, 3rd of his name and carrier of the Argonian mage blood."
Dark looked at him the way he'd seen men look at a particularly fat sheep, off to slaughter. Marvin wasn't sure what the feeling sitting low in his stomach was, but it burned, twisting and hot and something.
"And what," Dark said, without taking his eyes from him. "Am I supposed to do with him?"
"Marvin is from old mage blood, as you so deftly put it," his father said, the edge in his voice as sharp as Dark's smile. "He's descended from the Argonian God-Mages, marked with magic from his third birthday, and possessing a respectable skill for a mage of his age. Though he has not been trained in spell combat, he is well versed in the history of our land and that of the other kingdoms as far as the maps extend, knows the magical prowess possessed by other's armies, and what artifacts they have in their possession."
His mother took over as his father paused to take a breath. "He is learned, and knows well those crowned in the kingdoms you have yet to meet. His knowledge alone might be invaluable to one who wishes to . . . partake, in these homelands."
"And he's still young yet," his father continued. "Still eager to learn, and learn- quickly."
Marvin bit his cheek to stop the wince as his father caught on the word.
"We have had many offers for his hand. He's grown well, learned well, and shows promise to be something extraordinary."
"But," his mother said, and Marvin loved her for how steady her voice was. "We would be more honored, we think, if you might have some interest in him. We could think of none who would give our son the life you would."
Marvin let the proposal sink into him. They'd practiced this, discussed how they would present the offer to Dark, what exactly they might say that would pique his interest. It was . . . weird, even still. But that was fine.
Half of it was a lie anyway. Not trained in spell combat. Hah. Marvin hadn't lost a fight since he was 15.
But Dark wasn't looking at Marvin anymore. His eyes were back on his parents, and the smile he wore was something more . . . mocking now.
"Marked of the old blood," he said, a curl to his voice. "Yes, I'd heard there was one at your court. But, from what you say, what good is that to me? He is no mage warrior, you claim, and no great conduit. His value, then, would lie in his children, and holds little use to me, considering you've brought me a son."
The Queen reached up and rested her hand on her son's shoulder. Marvin allowed it. He knew this part was crucial.
"Yes, were he the average son," she said softly. "But Marvin is an Omega."
That got Dark's attention. For the first time since they'd entered the tent, Marvin felt like Dark wasn't just humoring them, his eyes snapping to Marvin, and the full weight of that raw, unmasked gaze was suddenly on him.
It made sense. Secondary genders were rare. Incredibly so. Centuries ago there had been a slave trade for Omegas and Alphas alike, but it had died out long before even his parent's parents were born. Not out of some moral cleansing, no, simply because there weren't enough of them to feed any kind of market before long. Alphas appeared in maybe one out of every few thousand, and Omegas even less so, often dying before they reached adulthood due to the stress their bodies underwent, or because some fanatic killed them.
It quickly became a rule that most noble families did not flaunt their Omegas until after they had married them off, ensuring the child was old enough to survive, and safe in a new mating pair.
Only six people knew of Marvin's status. His mother, father, sister, brother, aunt, and the Omega maid who'd helped to raise him through the worst of it.
Including Dark in that list made something itch deep under his skin. But it was easy to ignore when he thought of the satisfaction he'd taste if he killed him.
Silence hung in the massive tent, a stillness broken only by the dancing light between them. And then Dark stood, one single, fluid motion, and Marvin had spent too long studying sparring opponents across a field to not recognize a threat.
He wasn't huge. Not a hulking man reliant on strength and size. But he was big. Taller than Marvin, though not by much, and wider, broad-shouldered and well-framed. The way his shirt hung open at his collarbone, but tucked tight into his waistband, only helped to exaggerate the shape of him, the lithe way he stepped forward, warrior grace, and Marvin found his eyes following his feet as he stepped, the muscles in his arms as they flexed with the movement, the breadth of his hands, wide and rough.
It made that strange heat spread through his gut again.
Dark hooked a finger at him, beckoning him closer as he stepped around the table and into the light of the magefyre. Marvin made himself go loose, obedient, stepping up to join him and trying to keep his eyes from lifted to the other man's face, sticking to the safe open space of the neck of his shirt.
It was oddly easy to do.
"How old is he?" Dark asked, and Marvin fought the urge to turn with him as Dark started a slow walk around him, the hairs on his neck rising as the man disappeared slowly from view.
"17," his father answered, and Dark made a low, considering noise.
"And unmated, I take it?"
"Yes. None but our family knows of his status, and he has yet to meet an Alpha who revealed him."
Dark had made his slow circuit around him, stepping slowly before him again, and Marvin shivered when he felt the hand brush against his shoulder. It was . . . odd. He wanted to break it and he wanted to . . . he didn't know. Lean into it, perhaps?
The hand catching his jaw gave him a much easier set of emotions to categorize. Dread. Anger. Shame. He knew what was coming next as Dark tilted his head up to look him in the eye.
The mask was a comforting weight on his face. A shield from the rest of the world, a single sliver of protection in the agreement he was trying to become a part of.
He knew Dark was going to remove it.
It was always the first thing they wanted. To see a southerner's face, "unobstructed" they said. "Naked" as Marvin said. But he'd known this was coming. If Dark wanted to strip him of this, or anything else, he was ready for that. There were lines he had drawn, decisions he had made for what he would and wouldn't allow. And losing his mask would just have to be something he learned to live with.
Even if it made his chest ache.
But Dark didn't reach up to the mask. His thumb brushed carefully over Marvin's jawline, tracing it all the way back to his ear, and running gently behind it, to where the tie for the mask was hidden in his hair. But he didn't tug at it, instead using his grip to turn Marvin's face just so, to get a better look at him.
Marvin found it strangely hard to look away from his dark, dark eyes.
"Does he speak?" Dark asked, and it took Marvin a moment to process the question, wetting his dry lips and clearing his throat.
"Yes," he rasped, and it came out softer than he'd meant it to. Dark's mouth curled up into that dangerous smile again, and Marvin tried not to shiver.
"And does he have opinions?" Dark asked, and there was some kind of black amusement in his voice that made that thing in Marvin's gut curl.
"I- yes," Marvin managed, blinking rapidly and knowing his mask helped to cover most of his fluster. "What would you know of me, my lord?"
"I'm not your lord," Dark answered back simply, but there was a dangerous edge to his voice, and Marvin tucked that away diligently. "I'm the man your parents are discussing selling you to. Something you don't seem surprised by."
Dark's fingers retracted down to his chin, catching a firm grip there and forcing him to look him straight on, caught in a gaze that did something strange to his thoughts.
"I want to know what you think of that."
Marvin had to answer that carefully. Very carefully. This man wasn't an idiot, Marvin saw that within a few moments of seeing him. He was shrewd, even just in this brief conversation, and Marvin had no doubt he had guessed more than he had hoped already. The only thing he could strive for now was to make sure he never realized how much of a threat the Omega was.
As much honesty as he could safely manage seemed the safest bet.
"It was my idea," he said simply. Dark's eyebrows raised, but he didn't interrupt, waiting, and Marvin continued. "You're a force unlike anything we've ever seen before. You're- a threat, a danger, and I don't believe you to be bested by sheer force of power by any kingdom here."
He took a breath, hoping he'd gauged the man correctly.
"I think the only smart move one can make now is alignment. I may not be able to offer a blade, but you have plenty of those. What you don't have is a . . . distraction. A- a novelty I can offer, in exchange for the safety of my home- my birthplace and my family."
Marvin swallowed, struggling to find the right words for this. He'd never been the wordsmith, he nor his brother. That was their sister's job, and Marvin had only ever barely managed to scrape by in his diplomatic lessons.
But he'd learned to lie. He knew how to do that, if nothing else.
The most important part was sprinkling in a little truth.
"And I feel obliged to admit," he continued, swallowing again, and hoping his hesitation sounded like shame, and not the nerves of trying to find what the man might want. "I . . . I'm not immune to the- idea- the fascination of-"
Dark's face hooked into a crooked smile, something pleased and- something, and Marvin felt that swooping feeling in his gut, the first inklings of what it was seeping slowly into his mind.
"Have you ever seen a kingdom fall?" Dark asked him, and the words were low, honey-sweet and said through sharp teeth.
Marvin shook his head, mouth dry.
"Would you like to?"
Oh.
Oh.
The heat pooling in his gut. The shivers across his skin, the hitch in his breath, the way he couldn't pull his eyes away from the magnetizing gaze holding him there.
It wasn't hatred churning in him right then.
It was want.
"Yes," Marvin whispered, because that was what Dark wanted. Because it was the safest answer, and he didn't have time to think of anything else, or think of what truth lay in that lie.
But it was the right thing to say. The warlord's smile held something . . . hungry, almost, and Marvin couldn't shake the feeling that he had pleased him, warmth spreading over his skin.
"I offer no alliance," Dark said, but he spoke louder than the purr he'd used for Marvin, and Marvin knew he was back to talking to the King and Queen. An audience Marvin had almost forgotten they had.
"We ask for none," his mother responded simply. "Only a mutual respect."
"Your son in return your lives."
"Our son in return for peace," his father corrected him, and Dark hummed, humor in the sound.
"How lucky you are, then, to have such a pretty son."
Marvin didn't look back at his parents. He knew this was hard for them, knew the rage he'd see in his father, the pain he'd see in his mother.
But he could take care of himself. They knew this. He'd begged them to give him this, to let him have this opportunity. And they'd agreed.
It was almost done anyways. They could talk about it after. He could reassure them, remind them that he was more than prepared to handle the Darkwolf.
And he didn't want to look at them now. Not when there was heat in his face, when he had trouble breathing around the way Dark's words made him feel.
"You'll accept our offer then?" the King asked.
Dark's hand slid along his jaw, turning his face back up to him. His hand was warm, rough, callouses from holding a sword brushing along the hint of stubble there, and Marvin let his face turn into it just slightly, let himself put a little pressure back in return, like a cat rubbing his face on a wall.
Dark smiled, sharp teeth and sharper eyes, and his thumb hooked high over Marvin's cheek, under the mask and across the freckled skin hidden there. It lit up an unfamiliar feeling, something hot and burning over his face and into his chest, and Marvin couldn't stop the way his lips parted, or the small sound that escaped them.
"Yes," Dark said, voice low and pleased. "I think I will."