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“Today, the search continues for the hopeful, freshly graduated hero who disappeared in last Thursday night’s chaos. The young man, thus far only identified by his Super Academy-given name, Wildcat, failed to return to base after reportedly being deployed to help his team rescue citizens from the multiple fires that raged across the city.
“Our source, who claims to be a close friend of the hero, has stated that he was
taken
. Neither the police nor the Academy’s personal investigators have confirmed this, but both have issued similar statements just this morning asking citizens to be on the lookout and report any sightings of the notorious villain Philosopher. Though, it’s currently uncertain whether or not this pertains to Wildcat, as officials have stated that they believe Philosopher to be the mastermind of the plot that wreaked such havoc on our city.
“Really, I don’t believe it’s so far-fetched to believe he abducted Wildcat while he was at it. Your thoughts, Junmyeon?”
“Well, Kyungsoo, I—”
With the audible click of a button, the voices of the newscasters abruptly cut off. Johnny doesn’t even bother to look up from his newspaper, eyes skimming over the latest on stocks with dull interest, his mind still halfway numb from sleep. At the moment, he’s got more important things to worry about than the gossiping of law enforcement and bored reporters—like where his money is going, or the hot coffee in his cup.
“Sounds like you better watch your back, hyung.”
That, however, makes him look up.
Mark is quick to meet his gaze from where he’s sat on the couch, lounging with his back against the armrest, those cat-like eyes peering towards the bar over the cushions. Johnny can’t even see Mark’s mouth, but he knows he’s smiling—the devious little glint in his stare gives him away.
“Oh, really?” Johnny hums and holds Mark’s eyes as he lifts his cup to his mouth, taking a sip of his favorite homemade americano. “Well. If anything happens to me, you’ll be responsible, you know.”
The black pupils he’s staring at suddenly blow wide, completely eclipsing the sweet gold of Mark’s doe eyes, like a cat ready to pounce. He shifts on the couch, sitting up straighter but just enough to where he can place his chin on top of the cushion, and then he flashes a toothy grin, in Johnny’s full view.
“I know,” he practically purrs. “I’m okay with that.”
Johnny huffs an amused breath through his nose and looks back down at his paper, taking another sip of coffee as he reads. His focus falters, though, when he notices movement in his periphery—Mark slowly rising from the couch and stalking around towards him, that predatory nature of his other form shining through, impossible to conceal, especially now that he’s found himself in a place where he has no reason to hide anything about himself.
It isn’t long before a lithe hand places itself on the center of the page, breaking Johnny's line of sight to the finely printed words. He still doesn't look up, however, not until the paper is pushed down onto the table from his grasp and that pretty hand is on his chin instead, tilting his head up.
Mark smiles when their eyes meet again, a coy little twist to his lips, and Johnny sets his coffee cup down on the marble bartop with a soft clink as Mark climbs into his lap as naturally as he belongs. Long legs wrap around Johnny's waist, fingers interlock behind his neck, and those deceptively innocent eyes peer into his very being through the mirror of his pupils.
“I’ll take full responsibility,” Mark whispers, shifting further up on Johnny’s thighs when Johnny brings his hands down to rest around his tiny waist. Being held like this seems to stir something in Mark; he tucks his bottom lip between white teeth, pretty feline fangs pressing indents into the pink plushness, and there’s a pleased rumble in his chest when he murmurs again after a brief reprise, “It’s the least I could do to repay you, isn’t that right, hyung?”
And as he stares back, Johnny thinks that, yes, taking responsibility for whatever misfortune might befall him is certainly the
least
Mark could do as thanks for kidnapping him as he asked.
It was such a strange request, that uttered plea of “take me with you” coming as more of a shock than the lightning storm crashing overhead.
For a long moment, Johnny could only stare at the young hero who he had pinned under his boot and the point of his namesake, his crimson-bladed sword conjured from his own blood. The rain was just beginning to fall, no doubt stirred up by some bigshot hero to extinguish the fires tearing through the streets below. What started as no more than a few drops dotting the concrete roof quickly became a downpour, and though Johnny’s hair fell in wet strands in front of his eyes, he couldn’t look away from the hero beneath him.
Now, more than a week later, he finds himself in a similar position, only in the kitchen of his mountain home, only he’s the one pinned in place, unable to move under that lion gaze. He can’t think of the words to respond, so he doesn’t even try, instead merely leaning in to capture Mark’s lips in the fun little game they’ve picked up since their time together began.
It’s nothing serious, but it feels and tastes extremely so. Johnny quickly learned just how addictive Mark Lee is; it only took one touch to get him hooked, a fact that Mark seems to savor. He’s like nothing and no one Johnny has ever had—sweet on the surface like all heroes should be, but at the same time, more smug and confident than any villain Johnny’s met. More than just that though, he’s got this way of going about it, this way of smirking and tilting his head just so and cooing saccharine words that always leaves Johnny thinking
he’s
the one doing the manipulating. When they’re like this, mouths slanted together and hips rocking and clothes being tugged away, Johnny always seems to think he’s the one pulling the strings.
And then Mark slaps the sense into him.
“
Fuck,
” he gasps, head turned to the side, his eyes wide as pain blossoms through his cheek, flushing his skin as it radiates out from the site where Mark’s open palm made impact. He felt the undeniable bite of Mark’s rings too, the ones he swiped from Johnny’s hand during their first night together and began to wear as shamelessly as if he always owned them. That cold metal always hurts especially, but the feeling of his own warm blood beading on his cheek only serves to further his arousal, his cock throbbing in his sweatpants.
Mark’s quick to notice, he always is, and he grins that devilish, toothy smile before grabbing Johnny’s chin and leaning in to lave his hot tongue over the cut on his cheekbone. He purrs at the iron taste of immortal blood, a rumble that shakes through his whole body so viciously that Johnny feels it even where he still holds his hips. His breath tickles Johnny’s spit-wettened skin as he whispers, “Was that too hard, baby?”
The pet name seems to roll off his tongue with such ease that Johnny can barely breathe for a second. He huffs a short laugh, then guides Mark’s hips to grind down against his less than secret erection, and he definitely catches the twitch of Mark’s smile against his cheek.
“What do you think, little cat?”
“I’d say—” Mark slides a hand down between their bodies, kissing the gasp from Johnny’s lips when he grips his cock through his pants and squeezes with purpose. “That’s
way
too hard. C’mon.”
In a heartbeat, Johnny is on his feet and being pulled by the waistband of his pants towards the bedroom, Mark’s lips on his the whole way. He can hardly keep up and stumbles a couple times, much to Mark’s apparent amusement, and he just knows that if he was still as half asleep as he was five minutes ago, he’d fall flat on his face. Thankfully, Mark is a very sobering kiss, so he manages to stay upright all the way until he finds himself being pushed down onto their not yet made bed.
His back hits the mattress, and Mark is on top of him in an instant, sitting up atop his hips and bearing his weight down on his crotch, rocking his ass against his clothed erection. The sudden friction tears a moan from low in Johnny’s throat, and Mark grins like the cat who caught the canary.
“That’s good, hyung, yeah? You like that? Should I make you cum just like this?”
“Jesus.” The blasphemy comes out in a rush of air from Johnny’s lungs. He grips Mark’s firm thighs like his life depends on it and throws his head back against the sheets, baring his throat to the predator above him and being none the wiser until he feels teeth against his jugular. “Fuck—”
Mark bites down on his neck like he’s possessing over a slab of meat. Sharp fangs press their claim into Johnny’s skin as Mark slides his hands up underneath his shirt, fingers stroking over muscle and skin until he finds his nipples to pinch and, with a touch of cruelty unique to him, twist.
“
Ah!
” Johnny sharply arches his back, reflexively trying to buck off the painful grip, but Mark only holds tighter, both with his fingers and his mouth. And against all his will, Johnny melts like butter under those teeth, shuddering out a breathy moan. “Oh, Mark—”
He not only hears Mark’s delight at his submission, he feels it too—the deep chesty rumble of his responding purr vibrating through the mouth on his throat, shaking the very blood in his veins, buzzing his cells until he forgets how to breathe and finds himself staring into the middle distance above Mark’s head.
It takes his shirt being literally ripped off his body for him to snap to, the rough jerking and the sound of the fabric being torn apart enough for him to startle from his little daze with a gasp. He looks down in mild horror as Mark plucks the shreds from his body and haphazardly tosses them aside, as if dismissing Johnny’s clothes from his presence.
“Excuse me—”
“Shh.”
“Do you—” Johnny presses his lips in a tight line, biting back some snark as Mark manhandles him to flip over onto his stomach. He huffs as his hips are unceremoniously jerked up off the bed, his ass sticking up in the air, and he looks back over his shoulder as Mark goes on tugging his sweatpants down. “Do you know how expensive that shirt was?”
“Like you can’t afford another,” Mark chirps back and generously spares him just a sideways smirk as he reaches over to the nightstand, grabbing the bottle of lube from the top drawer.
Johnny opts to not reply, knowing better by now than to compete with that silver tongue. Sparing his neck a crick, he turns his head back with a soft huff to instead watch Mark in the mirror at the head of their bed, folding his arms under his chin and following Mark’s movements as he pops the lid open with his thumb and slicks up two of his pretty fingers. The look on his face is frustratingly cool and confident, as if he can smell Johnny’s anticipation, even through the icy veil he’s trying so hard to maintain. It lights a fire in Johnny’s belly, his cock throbbing between his thighs, and that probably only further gives him away.
Mark doesn’t give a warning, but still, watching him in the mirror, it shouldn’t come as much of a surprise to Johnny when he slides one wet finger between his cheeks, coating his hole with the slick. Yet Johnny still finds himself gasping, his body reflexively jerking and tightening up, and Mark tuts his tongue at him, smoothing one hand over the round of his ass and down the back of his thigh like soothing a startled animal.
“Relax, hyung,” he whispers, and Johnny stares with his jaw slack in pleasure as Mark’s reflection casts his eyes downwards, watching his middle finger sink into the eager body below him. Groping Johnny’s cheek with his free hand to hold his ass open, he doesn’t stop til he’s knuckle deep, and then he crooks his finger just right to coax a shudder and a choked moan from Johnny, and in an instant, that toothy grin is back on his face. “
Thaaat’s
it, baby. Lemme take care of you, alright?”
All Johnny can think to utter back is a pitiful little “okay,” before he has to bite his forearm to keep from moaning aloud again as Mark start dragging his finger in and out of him, rubbing tenderly over his prostate, as if he’s fucking memorized Johnny's body over the past week alone. Truly, Johnny wouldn't be surprised. Nothing gets past Mark, those sharp eyes even now catching every shift in Johnny's expression—every wrinkle to his brow, every twitch to his lips. Johnny knows this, because when he looks into the mirror again, those eyes are waiting for him, waiting to see and savor how his eyebrows arch as Mark slides his ring finger into him alongside his middle.
“Oh—” Johnny lets go of his arm just to gasp out, a string of spit hanging between his plush lips and his skin. His thighs shake as Mark wastes no time, adding his index finger, because he knows Johnny loves that stretch, because he loves the way it makes his eyelashes flutter. “Oh, fuck—”
“Hyung is so tight around my fingers,” Mark hums with a tone of consideration, like there's something there to think about. Johnny doesn't see what, but maybe that's just because Mark is slowly fingering the sense out of him, getting him cock-dumb before he's even taken his cock out.
Lewd, wet sounds fill the air as Mark starts fucking his fingers into him, eyes falling again to watch how Johnny's rim, red and shiny with lube, stretches around the thickest part of his fingers, how Johnny's body so eagerly accepts him like it's his own. It's maddening for Johnny, seeing how Mark's gaze darkens, how he so clearly gets off on just watching him like this.
“Please,” he begs before he can even register what the word on the tip of his tongue is. Mark's eyes flicker up to meet his in the mirror again, and Johnny's mouth falls open around a throaty moan as those stupidly talented fingers rub that most sensitive part of his body. “P-
Please
, Mark—”
“You want it already.”
It's more of a statement than a question, yet Johnny finds himself answering anyway, nearly sobbing as he arches his back and rocks back on his knees like he's trying to get Mark's fingers even deeper still inside him.
Thankfully, that's all the encouragement Mark needs.
“Oh my god—”
The breath is stolen from Johnny's lungs just a few thankfully short heartbeats later as Mark slides his cock into him, bottoming out in one smooth glide. It's unfair, Johnny thinks, that not only is Mark so wildly attractive and with such marvelous powers, but he also has the best dick this side of the ocean. God plays favorites, obviously.
He eases out to the tip, just to see how he can make Johnny squirm, before slamming back in so fast Johnny sees stars. The ache is immense, deep in his bones, in his spine, and yet it's the best thing he's ever felt. Mark seems to know that too, seems to read it as easy as a book on his starstruck face through the mirror, because he immediately picks up a cruel pace, fucking into Johnny like he's trying to fuck the brains out of him.
His hands are squeezing possessive bruises around Johnny's hips, shadows of his grip that will remain there as reminders of this
claim
for days to come. And days beyond that as well, because Johnny knows it won't be any longer than 24 hours until Mark is here again, buried to the hilt inside his body, holding him like a lifeline and baring those teeth against the nape of his neck.
That's just Mark—insatiable.
That's exactly why he's here.
That hunger is what guided him to take Johnny's outstretched hand that night, and it's what guides him now too, Johnny knows. He sees it in those eyes when he looks in the mirror, he sees that sense of nothing born from wanting more, that dissatisfaction, that need. He sees the familiarity of it all, and he gives in to it with ease, as he always does, letting that desire pull his hips back just as Mark pounds into him. It tears a gasp from his throat, sparks a new light in Mark's eyes, and he flashes a little grin when Mark looks at him.
“Is—Is that all you've got?”
Mark just smiles back.
“Do you think they'll find me?”
Johnny glances up from the laptop perched on his lap, his fingers hovering frozen in time over the keys. He finds Mark in his usual spot when there’s something on his mind—by the window, cigarette between his fingers, staring out over the woods and water and distant city lights with some kind of
something.
He’s got the sort of eyes like those of a bird freed from its cage, only to find that its wings are clipped. It makes Johnny’s heart ache.
Wordlessly, he sets his laptop aside, closes it with a resounding click that draws Mark’s gaze, and then stretches his arms towards him with a welcoming smile. “C’mere, big cat.”
Mark cracks the tiniest grin and takes one last drag of his cigarette before snuffing it out in his ashtray on the windowsill. He turns to Johnny then, and Johnny watches without a hint of fear as he slinks down into that
other
he’s kept hidden away for so long.
“My baby,” Johnny coos as the hulking black lion, with cigarette smoke leaking from between those giant teeth, crawls onto the bed. The frame creaks under the new, immense weight, and Johnny, his back still smarting something fierce from the past
eight hours
, makes a similar noise when Mark collapses into his arms and on his lap in a hunk of muscle and fur. He breathes out the ache, though, and smiles fondly as he runs his fingers through the thick fur of Mark’s mane. “Softer than the finest coats money can buy.”
Mark huffs, a hot breath from that giant snout pressing against Johnny’s stomach, and Johnny chuckles, knowing well what he’s thinking.
“Don’t worry, I won’t skin you,” he murmurs, and that earns him a low, chesty rumble. As much of a housecat purr as a lion can give, at least. More of a growl, honestly, but it warms Johnny’s heart all the same. He lets out a soft breath as he leans back against the headboard, eyes drifting again to that spot where he so often finds Mark.
The black of night is already beginning to rise behind the faraway skyline, an ever-darkening backdrop to the flickering stars of a healing city. There will be no fires tonight, none by Johnny’s hands at least. Tonight, just as every night for the past week and a half, he will let the darkness settle, just as it has now in his lap.
He looks down at Mark and scratches behind his cute, round little ear and marvels at how not the city, nor the Academy, nor his very own classmates ever realized what lurked among them. How they never saw this power, this
beauty.
Mark looks up at him, golden eyes alight under long eyelashes, and Johnny’s heart swells.
“They won’t find you,” he at last answers, voice hardly above a whisper, and he watches how those feline eyes blink so slowly at him, content. He smiles and rubs his thumb over Mark’s forehead, pushing the front of his mane back. “I promise you they won’t.”
And then, just as quick as he came, the other is gone, and Mark sits so terribly human again in Johnny’s lap. He wraps his legs around his waist, his arms around his neck, and Johnny holds him just as tightly in return, smelling the smoke and sex and sweat in his hair as Mark nuzzles into his neck.
“How do you know that?
Mark’s voice comes out so small, hesitant—so different from that loud and courageous “New Boy Wonder!” who Johnny watched on the television mere weeks ago. Wildcat, the newest hero on the scene, who donned the giant paws of a lion and teeth to match, who swore with his chest puffed out that he would protect the city and all who lived in it, who captured hearts with nothing more than a bashful laugh and a sheepish smile.
Who sits now in Johnny’s lap, on the verge of tears, finally free from having to hide himself but still so entirely
terrified.
His shell of earlier confidence has since melted away as the reality of who he is, where he is, and what he’s done seems to come rushing back all at once, Johnny’s body no longer enough of a distraction. A comfort, yes, but now not nearly enough to drown out the thoughts inside that pretty little head.
Johnny smooths his hand down Mark’s back and feels how he shakes from the inside out. “What, just my word isn’t enough?”
The little whine Mark lets out cracks halfway through, and Johnny presses a kiss to the side of his head.
“I won’t let them, Mark,” he whispers into his soft, inky hair. He traces the knobs of Mark’s spine with his fingers, follows them all the way down and then back up. He squeezes the nape of Mark’s neck and savors his small sigh. “You’re mine now—my treasure. More precious than anything.”
“More precious than the red of your blood?”
“Yes,” Johnny chuckles softly, feeling how his power, that delicious immortality dubbed the Philosopher’s Stone, vibrates in his veins. “Even more precious than that. They couldn’t see it in you, but I can, and you can too, can’t you? You’re worth more than what they could’ve ever given you. That’s why you took my hand.”
Mark is silent for a long few beats, just until the moment the quiet begins to teeter on too much, and then he takes a breath.
“What if I...can’t, though? See it, I mean..”
Johnny squeezes his arms around him, and Mark melts in his grip, presses further against his body, like he won’t be happy until their bones are tangled together. Johnny lays another kiss to the side of Mark’s head and whispers into his hair, “Then I will help you.”
Mark cries in his arms, and this is the man behind Wildcat, the vulnerability of the lion, the opposite side of the sunset, the darkest backdrop who the city never saw, because they never thought to look up.
Here, he is nothing but a boy who was called a monster until he found a place—not
his
place, but
a
place. Somewhere to grow and evolve, but never fully, as he kept his other hidden away like the dirty secret he was told it was. Here, sobbing and shaking apart in Johnny’s arms, he sinks back into that fragile boy who fears everything—the heroes who take him in with their impossible standards, the eyes of the city staring down at him like those blinking lights on the horizon, the
thing
that lurks inside him and threatens to ruin his everything.
And yet—not all of that bravery was a paper-thin farce for the camera, because even when he found himself pinned beneath the boot of the villain who was destroying his city, he met Johnny’s eyes and uttered those four little words with the fervor of a man who found
his
place.
“T
ake me with you.
”
That night, he yearned for it, salivated for his freedom after so many years of having it dangled in front of his nose like a piece of meat dripping with blood.
In the end, Johnny never has been the cruelest of villains, nor of heroes, so—
“I took you,” he murmurs, and while Mark’s cries have since stifled, he still sniffles as he leans back to look Johnny in the eyes. Johnny smiles, cups Mark’s ruddy cheeks, and wipes his thumbs through the tear tracks staining that beautiful face. Y
ou’re a lion, not a cheetah
, he wants to say, but instead, he whispers on, “I took you because I knew you from first glance, Mark Lee.”
Mark blinks those sweet golden eyes at him, doesn’t look away even as Johnny swipes his thumb over his swollen lips.
“I see myself when I look at you.”
There’s more there, he knows that Mark knows it, he can see the realization in those eyes, how they widen barely a fraction, but he doesn’t share it, and Mark doesn’t ask.
“So,” he breathes out, “I want to—I
will
give you what I never had.”
Mark stares silently, and he’s watching again. Studying Johnny’s face. Taking note of how his lips wrap so sweetly around the promise—
“The world, my Chimera.”