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“Was Layla the first woman you had sexual relations with?”
Marc couldn’t help but startle at the question, gaze darting to the bare hint of a reflection on the fridge door, Steven’s face more a blur than an actual shape. When he looked back down to the spoon that he left on the counter, he could see more of Steven’s expression, even though the shape of his face was contorted this time. He couldn’t hold back the faint snort as he picked up the tea to make his way into the sitting room of their flat.
As soon as he was seated on the couch, he was surrounded by the scent of Layla that lingered on the throw blanket and pillow. Now the question wasn’t as out of the blue as he initially reacted. Layla had left five hours ago to catch a flight to Madrid. She had stayed with them for three days before her departure, but also promising to return after her business venture was settled.
He never asked Steven but Steven took it upon himself to let him and Layla share the bed, and incidentally the intimate night they had before Layla’s flight.
The question made a lot of sense really.
“No, Layla wasn’t my first,” Marc replied, taking a gentle sip of the tea. He really wasn’t a fan of Steven’s tea, but it definitely beat campfire roasts that caused days worth of heartburn. Easing the cup away from his mouth, Steven’s shadowed face played over the surface of the tea. There was something about the tilt of Steven’s head that was curious as well as affronted. “Senior – last year of school, I did go on a few dates with one girl. She was my first, gave me a hand job at a tailgate party.”
“What?” The tilt and tone was definitely confused now. “Is… that some kind of euphemism?”
The snort that escaped him was closer to a laugh, loud and making way to aborted giggles. “No! Sorry, I shouldn’t.” At least his hand was steady to not jostle the cup as he fought to control his grin, lowering the cup to the drum table. “Tailgate party is… an outdoor party, normally in a parking lot. It happens before or after a sporting event, normally foot – American football. Or a get-together for any purpose. But always outdoors. Always with several vehicles. As it was, me and Denise – that was the girl I was dating. We were in a friend’s pick-up truck. She gave me a hand job and I reciprocated, even though she had to coach me, didn’t really know what I was supposed to do.”
Steven’s posture relaxed as he straightened, chin seemingly lifting as his head bobbed a little. “Did you have a lot of girlfriends before Layla?”
“Denise was really the only one. After I finished school, I joined the military. I didn’t date anyone then, there wasn’t anyone else until Layla.” Marc settled comfortably on the couch, not bothering to take the tea back in hand, not while they were still talking. “Has there been anyone for you? Who was your first?”
For a moment it looked like Steven’s shoulder joined in the play of light over the tea. “It’s only been Layla for me.”
Marc refrained from raising his voice, an indignant ‘Excuse me?’ swallowed back as he arched an eyebrow down to his cup. “Now wait a minute here. Did you wake up in the middle night to have your own one-on-one time with Layla?”
“Of course not! I am a gentlemen, and let you and Layla share my bed. Well, our bed as it now is,” Steven defended, ruffled by the accusation but also distracted by the technicalities of their living arrangements. Physically shaking off the tangent, he huffed and righted what was likely a pointed look back to him. “I adore Layla, I would love for our relationship to progress beyond the kiss we shared-“
“The kiss?” Marc smiled faintly before shaking his own head. “Steven, sexual relations is not a kiss on its own. Sexual relations means…. Sexual contact. A sexual act. It often involves kissing, but one kiss alone is not a sexual relation.”
“You don’t know what we may have done at the excavation site had you not punched me,” Steven countered, quick to defend himself again, but Marc could hear the underlying amusement under the provocation.
He could deal with that. And more.
“Ohhh, really?” Marc replied, unable to keep from smirking. “Both of you with the harnesses on? The levers and pully-system? I didn’t know you were into that.”
“I’m not!” Steven almost squawked, protest and shocked laugh blending together for a second before Steven lowered his voice again. “Wait, is Layla into that? No, even if she is, that is not what I would want for my first time. I would want it to be just us, none of those…. gimmicks and whatnot.”
As Marc continued to tease Steven, Steven fumbling his way through defences and possibilities, on the periphery someone listened, silent despite the way he too smirked. It was easier to hide on the periphery when London and the world at large knew of Marc Spector and Steven Grant.
Jake was content to be the mystery in Chicago, returning to the unknown corners of Marc and Steven’s psyche. Going to Khonshu’s side when needed, and taking care of Marc and Steven wherever they went. He had yet to take them on an impromptu trip outside of England but in time he would. Retaining the title of Khonshu’s avatar came with some liabilities.
Currently he listened to Marc and Steven, keeping their secrets safe and not speaking a word of his own.
It was better for them to not know what happened at a campsite where a group of mercenaries waited for morning.
He wished he could forget.
Setting up camp quietly and quickly was just as important a skill to taking down camp quietly and quickly. For this particular mission they found a site a safe and secluded distance away from any known routes. It did allow them some amount of leisure, allowing them to put their tents up at their own pace and soft chatter. The peace of the countryside was too enjoyable to disrupt.
Everything that Marc carried was already positioned meticulously, half out of military habit, half out childhood habit under a mother’s scrutinizing eye. Cot unfolded, blanket smoothed out. Flashlight nearby, prepared for nightfall. No personal effects aside from extra socks and shirts and toiletries. If he wanted to read anything he could always check to see if Frenchie had an extra book available.
The weather was warm enough that the breeze that rippled against their tents had more to do with the altitude than any imminent storms. He could hear two or three voices well enough to know there was a conversation happening although who was talking was undistinguishable. It was not a concern to him as he shrugged off his jacket, tossing it towards his rucksack.
When he felt someone press up firmly from behind, feeling the full breadth of chest and heat against his back, Marc wasn’t alarmed, not at first. Not until he had an arm wrapped tight around his chest and zero room to move away from the legs that bracketed his own or the foot that hooked around one of his feet.
It was the knife that came up to his throat that cut off any shout he was about to utter. Silent and frozen as he was, his body shuddered in the restrained position.
Jake didn’t realize his eyes were shut until he was shook, his gaze darting to see how many people surrounded him. It was almost reassuring to know he was alone, before the arm around him squeezed tighter and his attacker turned out to not be a stranger, the familiar voice of Robert Plesko speaking lowly in his ear. “Spector. We are in need of a talk.”
Jake willed his body to relax, even though it involved the blade of the knife shifting that bit closer to nicking his skin. Taking in his surroundings, to the tent and the voices beyond, he knew he wasn’t as alone as he first thought. “Bringing a knife to a conversation makes me think you’re more interested in threatening me,” Jake commented, sliding into Marc’s persona. “Might draw some attention.”
"That is why you’re going to shut up and listen,” Plesko growled even lower as he step-pushed them towards the cot. “Bushman and I have no idea what got into you in Congo, but you need to start explaining now.”
Jake had a vague recollection of Congo, not that he knew how many weeks had passed since then. It didn’t help that the only time he fronted during that particular mission was when someone knocked a pot off the dinner fire. Triggered Marc badly enough that Jake came to flat on his ass several feet away from the fire.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He honestly couldn’t account for anything else that Marc had done. He hadn’t even been close enough to observe the going ons. It was his familiarity with their conjoined history that led him to mentally work his way through the list of things that usually set off Marc. “Unless…. Are you referring to-“
“You’re damn right that’s what I’m talking about. You broke out of your position, you didn’t stick to the plan.” Jake opened his mouth to protest, not that he knew what to say in Marc’s defence when he didn’t know all the details, but it was enough of a physical cue, chest expanding enough that Plesko’s felt it and clenched his arm tighter around him. Jake just needed more information to figure out how to proceed, which Plesko thankfully provided as he continued. “We don’t need to hear it again. We know that their rotation changed, it didn’t mean you had to step out and take that man down yourself. You risked exposing us all!”
“If I hadn’t, who knows what would’ve happened. And because of what I did, our mission was successful. We got in and out unseen,” Jake countered, wishing he could turn around to address Plesko like a proper soldier, as he knew Plesko liked.
“We operate as a team, we stick to a plan,” Plesko insisted before releasing his hold, staring down at him when Jake turned to face him. “When one man goes rogue, it’s not just a risk to the mission. It makes the others think that they are allowed to make risky decisions too. And two rogues are far more dangerous than one.”
He was close to arguing that it was for the mission, to protect their identities and goal, not anything about being a rogue, but he used the pause to breathe and speak to act out guilt. Acknowledgement. “It was my mistake,” Jake conceded, dipping his chin slightly.
“And for that you’re going to receive punishment,” Plesko added, repositioning his fingers around the knife he held at his side.
Jake righted his head to full attention, eyes twitching wider in anger and shock. “I’ve apologized for my actions, it won’t happen again.”
“You need to be reminded of your position, soldier.” The corner of Plesko’s mouth quirked up, smug rather than amused. Arrogance visible in the way he shifted his weight and his shoulders settled, as if reminding him how he was a head taller than him.
Jake wanted to stall, and hoped his clenched jaw looked more of confusion and forced agreement rather than impudence, but there was a nagging thought in his head that thankfully wasn’t Marc rousing. “Wouldn’t Bushman be in charge of punishment?” Jake asked.
“Normally.” Plesko cocked his head, not taking his gaze off of him. “Consider it your lucky day, Spector.”
The slight tilt of his head, the slow curl of his lip had Jake wary, but he didn’t look away, and even though he narrowed his gaze he didn’t argue. He took a deliberate breath, visible as he stood straight and his chest expanded. “Okay.”
It was Plesko’s move to begin with, he wasn’t going to volunteer himself or ask what was required. Plesko didn’t move aside from the smug look that stretched over his face. “Do you know why you’re getting punished?” Plesko asked at last.
“Because I didn’t follow command,” Jake replied, as Plesko had already told him so.
“Because you talk too much.” Even though Plesko still stood at ease, or at least what passed for it in the military, his voice took on a more scholarly tone, like they were in a lecture hall rather than a tent. “Insubordination is part of it, which is the result of not listening and doing as you’re told. You need to know what your team requires to stay safe. To listen to your commander. Without Bushman present here currently, that means you’re going to do everything I tell you to.”
“Understood,” Jake nodded before taking the initiative to ask that very question. “What do you want me to do first?”
“You can undo my pants,” Plesko said, his expression not changing even as Jake felt like his whole body jolted without moving, or more it was the shudder that worked through his belly as he fought to keep his own expression neutral. “No? I suppose you can start with getting on your knees first. I think I would like that better.”
Jake still didn’t move, even though this time he knew the muscles in his face were unable to not twitch with indignation. He would’ve called his stance rigid but the swift kick Plesko delivered to his foot, closer to his ankle, had his foot jerking back, catching the leg of the cot. His foot caught, he all but twisted himself to not find himself sprawled on the ground, but it was Plesko’s fingers tangled in his hair that held him straight, albeit kneeling on both knees. Jake could only gasp for the pain that shot from his ankle through to his knee, and try not to tear up for the harder yank on his hair.
“Say thank you, boy,” Plesko said, smiling in a cheap imitation of benign favour.
Jake tried to twist his head free. “For what you son of a-“
“Marc, I am doing you a favour for not making your punishment public to see what happens when you don’t follow command. You could be made an example to see what happens when you don’t listen. But I have allowed this to be a private lesson. I tend to think you prefer it this way, don’t you?” Jake tensed up under his grip, glaring up at him if Plesko had so much of an eyeline to him past his wrist. “Words Marc.”
“Yes. Thank you.” Jake clenched his jaw as though it would harness the growl he rather wanted to voice.
“Now the pants.” Drawing his hands off the ground, Jake raised his hands, debating the merits of clawing Plesko’s balls until they bled, but forced his tight fingers to cooperate, snapping the button out of the hole before undoing the zipper. “One more layer.”
Lips twitching into various imitations of a sneer, Jake started taking a hold of the waistband until a voice from outside had him and Plesko freezing.
“Marc! We got food ready, come get it before it’s gone!”
He could see Frenchie’s outline from the afternoon light against the tent, but Plesko had his back to the tent’s entrance. Adjusting his grip to dig nails into his scalp, Jake squeezed his eyes shut while Plesko hissed loudly. “Don’t you dare-“
As much as he didn’t want to be on his knees for Plesko, the more abhorrent thought was Frenchie seeing him like this, nose inches away from Plesko’s groin. “I’ve lost— there had been a snake in here. I’m not leaving until I find it and get rid of it.”
“Yeah.” There was a note of humour to the panic in Frenchie’s voice. “I’m going to leave you to solve that problem on your own.”
Plesko was chuckling under his breath when Jake bowed his head, Frenchie no longer lurking outside. “Of course you know how to listen when it suits your interest. But my interests are the priority here, so you’re going to listen to every instruction I give you, understand.” Jake barely nodded, which got a firm shake from Plesko’s hand. “Words Spector.”
“Yes,” Jake snapped, sneering properly, but the next movement was Plesko yanking his head back, eyes wide on Plesko’s furious face.
“Obedience!” Plesko ordered, knowing enough to sharpen his tone rather than project his voice louder. “I told you your job is to listen to me, that is your punishment. Or do I need to make this a punishment for two instead? You were quick enough to obey when Duchamp was outside.”
This wasn’t his stomach shuddering, this was his stomach going ice cold. “You don’t…. no, don’t bring him into-” Jake started.
“I have no issue in putting him on his knees too, if it’ll make you listen to me properly.” Plesko explained calmly as though he wasn’t just threatening to bring his friend into this. “This is what it’s meant when you step out of line it risks everyone’s safety, even your favourite little French-“
“You fucking asshole, if you bring Frenchie into this I’ll cut you from-“
His fingers tightening a fraction more, Plesko narrowed his gaze down on him. Not in defiance of the threat that Jake belatedly realized he said out loud, but confusion. “You don’t know Spanish,” Plesko said, slow as he raked his eyes over him, taking in his face and posture. “When did you learn Spanish?”
Marc had never spoken a single word of Spanish in his whole life, Jake knew that as he held his breath, releasing it in a faint one-worded response. “Locals.”
Plesko was still raking his gaze over him, his position on the ground to the hands Jake had on his Plesko’s pants. “No more talking.” As discomfited as he looked, Plesko gave him a shake that was more of a shove, almost tipping him onto the cot before yanking him forward, almost faceplanting him against his stomach. “You listen to me and I won’t lay a hand on Frenchie. I won’t dig into your dark secrets because there are clearly things you haven’t told anyone about.”
He didn’t know what sickened him more, the threats on Frenchie, Marc’s secrets being exposed, or the heat that rubbed against his cheek when Plesko exhaled roughly.
“Agree?” There were no pleasantries, just a snarl as Plesko shook his head with a rough hold.
“Si.” Jake answered fast, the only acceptable answer even as his stomach heaved. “Yes.”
He adjusted his fingers to get a grip on the underwear underneath his pants, pulling both layers down until Plesko was bared down to his hips. Until his mouth was too occupied to answer as he followed every single Plesko order gave him.
Not wanting Marc to question the state of pain and nausea that followed, Jake stayed in the tent, appetite lost and not even piqued when Frenchie brought a small bowl of food to him later.
Swallowing his words and a few spoonfuls he listened to Frenchie, only speaking a handful of times.
At least it was him and not Frenchie. Or Marc.
There was no chance of him telling anyone, or even pretending to have any idea of why Plesko would watch him for minutes at a time
It wasn’t just a matter of watching him. Jake knew Plesko was analyzing him.
He was sure that Marc was just as confused as everyone else.
It was for the best.