Mars and Priestly's First Time Thingy Sexy Times

Mars just stared him in the eyes, clenching his fists. Immense disgust filled his stomach as he realized that he was enjoying every moment of this. He averted his eyes briefly, trying not to think about the overwhelming scent. It was familiar in the worst possible way. It smelled like the shower after Priestly had used it, or more likely, as they were using it together.

Then, he looked at him again, and he grabbed Priestly by the shirt and he reversed their positions, shoving Priestly against the wall he had just been against. He gritted his teeth, staring at him. How he wanted to do so many things to him. He wanted to punch him, and he wanted to kiss him and, worse, he wanted to do so, so much more than that.

"...leave me the hell alone," he said quietly, staring at him still.

Priestly just stared for a moment, completely entranced by Mars's actions. He hadn't been expecting that in the slightest, though he wished he could say he had. Slowly, he licked his lips, never breaking eye contact.

"You're my apprentice," he said simply, smiling. "I can't leave you alone.

"Far more importantly, I love you." He wanted to say more; he wanted to elaborate on the nature of his love, the intensity, all the intimate, unspeakably dirty acts he wanted to perform together. The words weren't in a mood to cooperate, however; he couldn't string them together, and he felt like he couldn't have spoken them anyway. Some things weren't meant to be expressed aloud, made tangible in the air.

"Make your choice, and I'll make the coffee." He smirked at his own little joke, though it never reached his eyes. There was nothing funny about this; his entire being was tensed, waiting to spring or to relax into a resigned trip to Albertson's, driving down the empty road and leaving so many horrid, beautiful things unsaid.

Though his eyes never left Mars's, he imagined tangling his fingers in his hair and pressing him into clean sheets.

"Stop lying!" He shouted, gripping Priestly's shirt until his knuckles turned white. "You don't love me, you sick, disgusting faggot. You don't even know what love is."

He knew he should let go of Priestly already, and that holding onto him was only making it worse. Mars felt a pang in his stomach, and he bit his lip. He wanted Priestly so bad. He leaned against Priestly for a second, his grip relaxing. This, however, just made his predicament worse. His stomach hurt so bad, he couldn't stand it.

"Please, don't touch me anymore," his voice sounded hoarse and pained, and he despised it.

"I don't think you can pass judgement on something you haven't seen," he chuckled hollowly, looking off to the side. "I don't mind much if you don't believe in my love--it's there, you see. It's been there for quite some time. And I think I'll be in love with you forever." He smiled absently, as though he were reciting lines to a particularly cheery song. "Exciting, isn't it? Or perhaps horrifying? All I know is that it quickens the pulse."

He sighed pleasantly, then glanced at Mars's body.

"...It hurts, doesn't it?" he asked, reaching to touch his shoulder. "I know what it feels like, Mars--I've been afraid too. Just let me help you. You can close your eyes and pretend to be somewhere else, though that obviously isn't what I'd prefer..." He sighed, and glanced away again.

"Because, to be honest, I want to give you everything. And the thought is kind of scary, even for me. So I don't think I will." He knew it barely made sense, but it also had to be said.

"Make your choice, please. It's killing me, and the sun is well on its way to rising."

"Stop touching me!" He shouted, shoving Priestly into the wall. He stepped away, but he was forced to hold a hand over his stomach. "You're so disgusting. Love? You don't love you. You don't even know me."

He clenched his jaw, staring at Priestly.

"...I don't care what you do, just leave me alone," he replied, before he headed to his room, again. He slammed the door behind him, pulling his nightgown off. He put on boxers and pants and a dress shirt, wrapping a tie around his neck. He wasn't sure where he was going, or what he was doing, but he just knew he couldn't be in this house anymore. He didn't have much money left in his bank account, but it would be enough for him to get some breakfast.

Priestly shrugged and pulled off his nightshirt, running his hands through his hair. He could practically feel the sun approaching the horizon; soon it would be light out.

Mars was right.

He grabbed his jacket off the hook, went to his room. He didn't so much as glance at the mirror as he slipped on his jeans or his wife beater, as he zipped up his jacket and ran a comb through his honey-colored locks. He left the door ajar and went outside and sat in the front seat of the car, where he waited patiently for Mars.

It was a good morning for a strong cup of coffee and a hearty breakfast.

He finished dressing, straightening his tie and running his hands through his hair, to smooth it down. Brushing it would be too much trouble, so he didn't bother. He just needed to go for a walk, eat some breakfast, clear his mind.

He headed out the door, closing it behind him. He walked down the driveway, completely ignoring Priestly. He pulled on his hooded sweatshirt, pulling it over his head.

Priestly started the car and pulled in front of Mars, blocking him. He rolled down the window and leaned out.

"Hop in, Marsy," he said pleasantly. "You can pick out what you'd like for breakfast. Come on, we'll have no more silly fights--I'll never lay a hand on your again. On my honor as God's servant, I swear it." He bowed his head and opened the door.

"Come on, we can play Switchfoot on the way there. Watch the sun rise and all that."

Mars just stared at him.

"You think I'd honestly believe you?" he asked, but his voice cracked as he spoke. Worse, he felt the tears well up in his eyes. He just wanted to stop crying, and he wanted to stop hating Priestly, but he couldn't. He just couldn't. "I hate you, you're disgusting, I hope you die."

He wiped his eyes, turning away from the car.

"Just leave me alone!"

Priestly climbed out of the still-running car, picked Mars up, and placed him in the passenger seat and slammed the door. He slid into the front seat, smiling again, then slammed on the accelerator. They sped down the country road, and "Dare You to Move" played gently from his speakers.

"How would you like your eggs, Marsy?" he asked after a few minutes. "Boiled? Scrambled? Fried? Omelet?"

"I don't want eggs!" He snapped, wiping his cheeks. "I hate you, I hate eggs, all I want to do is go home and ignore you!"

He crossed his arms over his chest, before he punched the CD player.

"I HATE SWITCHFOOT, TOO!"

The CD player whirred and the sound skipped to Jon Foreman's voice cheerfully singing "You've been havin' trouble stayin' alseep..." Then the CD skipped again and the player ejected it. All was silent save for the tires on the gravel and the soft chink of the rosary tied to the rear-view mirror.

Priestly kept his eyes on the road, thinking of what to say.

"Marsy," he began quietly, "Your home is with me now. Do you understand that? We are master and apprentice, and it is my job to teach and protect you."

"I don't want to be your frickin' apprentice anymore!!" He shouted angrily, smacking the CD so it went back into the player. "Shut up so I can listen to Jon Foreman!!"

Mars crossed his arms, biting his lip so he wouldn't cry again.

"...I want boiled eggs," he mumbled quietly. "And sex."

"I'm willing to give you both those things," he said truthfully, letting his words hang in the air. Jon Foreman sang something about sex being currency, but he was hardly paying attention.

"I only said I want eggs!" He snapped, his face turning red. "So...there."

"If you say so, Marsy," he said, beaming. It was off, somehow, like his heart wasn't fully in it.

"I'll make you the heartiest egg breakfast you've ever seen."

He stepped on the gas and the sparse trees and tall grasses sped by, until the road itself was a blur in their headlights.

"Love driving at this time of morning," he admitted with a small smile. "I've become quite the drifter, in my life--I find driving like this peaceful and nostalgic. No one on the open road but me. And perhaps a worthy companion." He winked, but even that seemed less cheerful than normal. He could practically feel the gap between himself and Mars in the air, hanging like icicles in the space between their seats.

Mars just stared at him.

"Don't say that sort of thing about me," he replied suddenly. "You're not a worthy companion for me, and I'm not a good companion for you. I don't understand why you won't just leave me alone, so I can find the demon who killed my family and kill him on my own."

"Ah, you wonder why I insist I accompany you?" he asked, chuckling softly. "It's simple, Marsy--I don't like when people die. I try to actively prevent it, in fact. Particularly young boys."

He adjusted the rear view mirror; the rosary jingled.

"I've made it my job to protect you, you see. No dying on my watch."

"I'm not going to die!" he snapped defensively. "I'm going to kill the demon, that's all there is to it!"

"How," he asked. It wasn't a question, it was a statement of fact. He let the word hang in the air between them, hoping Mars would understand.

"I'll track him down first, then...I'll just...I don't know," he admittedly suddenly, surprised at it himself. "I don't know. It won't be easy, because he...I don't know. I'll figure it out when it happens."

He looked out the window.

"...it's none of your business. What do you care?"

"I care if you live or die," he said honestly. "That's my main concern. And one of the best ways to get killed is to not have a plan, and act on your own."

"It's not like I trust you in the first place, so it's not like we should even go hunting together, anymore," he snapped angrily. "I can't even trust you. I can't go hunting anymore."