Chapter Text
The seven-year old boy continued to throw a fit, kicking up the gravel around him as he let the entire area know he was most certainly not happy. Of course, the townsfolk of Happisburgh, Maine, were well aware of Robert Mills’ temperament. His weary mother was grateful there wasn’t a crowd around as she tried to settle her son.
“Robbie!” She holds fast to his arm, pulling him towards the entrance. “Your dad got us these tickets early, this’ll be fun! No lines or anything.”
“I don’t wanna go!” His tantrum grows louder, and his older sister increases the volume of her headphones. “I don’t wanna go through some stupid maze!”
“Oh honey, you love the maze. Remember last year?”
“No!”
Mrs. Mills chews on her cheek for a moment, the lip gloss smudging the corners of her mouth. “Okay….well, what if we went for ice cream afterwards? As a family?”
“Dad’s not here,” pipes up Harper, scrolling away at her game.
“He’s protecting the town, he works very hard. Now come on-” she pleads, clapping her hands together, “-Let’s go use our brains and do some maze running!”
“Mom”
“What? You loved that movie!”
The complaints only worsen as they enter the maze. It’s clear as to why admission tickets weren’t publicly available yet as the trio step around loose extension cords and discarded props.
“I hate it here.” Robbie huffs, already stomping ahead of the group and through the forested path.
“Give it a chance-”
“Whatever!”
She can only watch her son run ahead, and it’s no use going after him. “Well,” she sighs, “At least he’s getting his exercise.”
There’s no comment from her older child, who is perfectly content to walk at her side and slash at skeletons on her screen. Continuing forwards, the fresh smell of pine does little to soothe her nerves as she sees no further sign of her son. A left turn, then a right, and his tracks are fading in the drying mud.
“Robbie!” Mrs. Mills calls out. “Robbie, where are you?”
Rounding another left turn, there’s no sign of him. Her pace picks up faster. “Robbie?! Rob- Oh God!”
A wooden ghost on a stick springs out from the pines, startling the frazzled woman. Her hand presses against her heart, surely to feel it stop beating, while her other latches tight to her remaining child. “Mom,” Harper whines, “It’s just a ghost.”
The rough, clipped sounds of a scream echo through the pines, even reaching young Harper Mills. It’s the perfect emanation of Robert, his voice high, youthful, and terrified.
“Robbie!” Shrieks his mother, stumbling in a circle, desperate to find the source of the sound. “Robbie!”
“Two people missing?” Mark raises an eyebrow, scrolling lazily through the article. “Not much of a case, is it?”
“Yeah, but look what else I’ve got.” From her tattered backpack, Amy pulls forth a notebook. She’s gone through at least half the rainforest, and he can’t fathom why she doesn’t keep electronic records at this point.
The third post-it down in the long line tracing the top edges of the paper allow her to quickly flip to her current notes, displaying short tipped letters crammed onto the lines. She points out a long list of names and dates, sliding down to the most current set of numbers.
“There’s all kinds of missing people here, going back all the way to the grand opening. Most were temporary workers, people who come and go, you know? But some of these people were locals.”
“How many we talkin’?”
“At least twenty-three, but some might not have even had missing persons’ reports filed. It’s...sad.”
Mark nods, mustering up a sympathetic look. Most of what they do is ‘sad’, but they’re not really in the funeral business. “What’re you thinking?”
She does a quick scan of the restaurant, fairly empty for a late Wednesday morning. Another page is pulled forth, and he admires the drawings while she speaks. “It’s a pretty wooded area, but not really wendigo territory. Records are vague, probably not a ghoul. Too few for werewolves, too spread out for a vamp, could be a lotta things.”
“Guess we better get going then.”
It’s a long drive from Illinois to Maine, but given their last case, Mark’s happy to see the town in their rear view mirror. Restocked, refueled, and raring to go, the dirt roads turn to highways and freeways soon enough.
As much of a realist (and pessimist) as he is, Mark doesn’t mind the long trips when the views are nice. The wide-spread branches of the oak trees in Northern Illinois shrink in the distance, their large canopies giving way to the afternoon sunlight that spreads across the dashboard. Lush grasses and ditch lilies line the road, disrupted by the odd flow of traffic but roots holding strong until fall. He passes the other half of his time by reading through his own journal. It’s nearly falling apart, but the faded drawing of the marines emblem on the cover holds too many memories to give up. A few pages are bookmarked, but he can’t make many guesses till they have more information.
Nearing the East coast, they climb higher into the mountains. The weather worsens and rolls in thick fog, but if he cranes his head just right, he can spot the striking outcrops of rock and hillside foliage.
Non-stop driving gets them to Happisburgh by Thursday evening, and his legs are shot. If he were smarter, he would’ve picked the first half for driving. But here he is, stumbling out of the car and groaning as he stretches out his poor limbs.
Amy jogs back from the main office, tossing him the keys. “Room seven, all yours for tonight. I’m heading over to the court office for records...unless you wanna come with?”
Stuck in a small room with disgustingly old papers. “Nah, you go ahead”
There’s a cheeky ‘I called it’ smile on her face, but she snags the van keys from him without a word. He watches the neon lights of the ‘Old Country Motel’ glint off the refurbished vehicle before she drives off down the road, the electric green weaving stretched patterns of light.
Sore as he is, he’s got too much on his mind for sleep. He may have the room to himself for now, but boredom overcomes him. There’s a bar only a block down the road that sounds promising, and he turns his back to the motel as he sets off with a new mission in mind.
He adds to the smudges on the glass door, being as the push bar was hanging on by a single screw. Given that the place was half full, he wagers that it’s about 90% of the town population. There aren’t a whole lot of people to work with, but the bar itself looks halfway decent. Mark takes a seat and orders a soda and a burger. Nothing too crazy. He can’t drink, but it works to his advantage when he’s out on nights like these.
The main reason he’s sat on the rickety barstool is two seats away, drink half-finished and picking at the ‘complimentary’ pretzels. And Mark likes his chances. The meal is just okay, and he eats while watching the other patron on the bar stools.
He’s dressed just a little too nicely for the place. Not a local.
He’s skinny, but without an off-putting scrawniness. Good size.
And when he feels Mark’s eyes on him, he turns to give him an odd look. Great eyes.
Mark gives him a casual smile, complemented with a short nod. The low blush on the other man is promising, though it could be from the alcohol, given his youthful appearance.
“Mark.” He invites himself closer, confidence high. “Not from around here. You?”
“Oh, uh, Ethan. And, same”
“What’s your business, Ethan?” He lets the name roll off his tongue with the low baritone of his voice, and the kid goes a little redder.
“Just here for work.” There’s an unheard sigh from him as he looks down at his drink. “Been better.”
The mood dips a little, so Mark puts on his best ‘Everything okay?’ voice when he speaks, nudging his leg against Ethan’s. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, I dunno.” He giggles nervously, a soft noise that makes Mark smile wider. “What about you, huh? Vacation?”
“Oh...something like that. Staying at the motel down the street”
“Nice, how is it?”
“Not bad. You know, maid service, olympic sized swimming pool, my own butler”
Ethan laughs it off, his grin reaching his eyes and making them glint in the low light. “Yeah, I’m sure”
“No, no, I’m serious. King sized bed and everything, with crown molding all over” He laughs along with him, soaking up the attention with ease.
“Well it sounds amazing”
He flashes the sharp points of his canines with a tilted smile, coming to rest a hand on his bicep. “Wanna check it out?”
They’re plenty handsy on the street, but as soon as the door closes behind them, Ethan clings to him like a koala on a tree. He hefts him up easily against the door, hands under his ass while Ethan wraps his legs around his waist with a flexibility that makes Mark very excited.
His mouth slotted against Ethan’s with a natural familiarity, and even with the upper hand, he let Ethan take control. Slim fingers held tight to his head, Ethan’s lips were unbelievably soft, his tongue tracing over his teeth and threatening to steal the air from his lungs.
Mark nibbled on his bottom lip, eliciting a small whine that reminded him of what he was actually here for. With Ethan still wrapped around him, he moves away from the door and walks over to the bed.
He physically drops him down, lavishing the small noise he makes when he hits the mattress. Mark’s on him instantly, hands planted on either side of his head and legs ensnaring him between them. The gentle kisses down his neck turn punishing, sucking hard on his collar and mouthing over the freckled skin.
The focus almost makes him miss whatever nonsense Ethan is babbling about, and he stops with a huff. “What’re you saying?”
“You lied about the king sized bed.” He giggles, digging his hands into his waist with a lazy roll of his hips.
Mark huffs a breath through his nose, a sarcastic comment on his tongue. But, he’s got more important things to worry about. He sits up, pinning Ethan underneath him while he works at the buttons on his shirt. Too many damn buttons.
When he’s got Ethan’s bare chest laid out before him, smooth and perfect, he runs his hands appreciatively up his ribs and ducks his head down to leave a trail of open mouthed kisses. It’s hard to focus with Ethan squirming and digging into him with his boney fingers.
“Mark,” he whines, drawing a leg up in frustration and almost kneeing him in the crotch. Bigger picture, idiot-
Ethan’s mumbling something again, a petulant look crossing over him. God, he can’t even think. “Huh?” He asks shortly, and when he has to ask a second time, Ethan grabs him by the back of his neck and drags him down.
“-Wanna blow you,” he murmurs, low and warm into his ear.
His brain shuts down for a blissful second. It’s long enough for Ethan to take control, rolling him over and sliding down his chest while he unzips and pulls down his pants. He’s finally focusing on something, and Mark watches as he dips a hand into his boxers.
He palms him a bit before shoving his boxers down, finally putting his mouth to good use.
Mark sucks in a ragged breath as he licks a stripe up his cock, lapping at the head and working slowly before sinking down. The tight, wet heat of his mouth has him reeling, and he has to force himself not to thrust up into his throat. He grabs a handful of his hair, not forcefully, but Ethan hums at the sensation as he works his tongue around his cock. The sensation is utterly electric, his skin on fire in the best way.
He watches him bob up and down, faster than he expected but fuck. He’s got a good fucking mouth. There’s a low groan in the back of his throat as Ethan takes him all, nearly pressing his nose to his groin as his lips stretch obscenely over his cock.
The tight heat in his stomach becomes unbearable, and Ethan’s whining again as he pulls him off and drags him up into a brutal kiss. He bites at his lips, his perfect cock-sucking lips, only breaking off to ask him-
“You want me to fuck you?”
There’s a needy yes in reply, but Mark barely hears him as he pins Ethan under him once again. His own shirt is gone in a minute, and while he’s working himself out of his pants, Ethan’s doing the same.
He’s got a nice cock, a decent size, and maybe not as thick as his own but a good length. Any other night, Mark would be content to ride him till he screams. But it’s been a long fucking week, and he just wants to make someone his bitch for a couple hours.
There’s lube and a condom in his duffel, and when he turns back around he sees Ethan, propped up on the pillows and eyes closed as he lazily jacks himself off.
Mark’s on him with force, grabbing his offending hand and flipping him around so that it’s pinned to his back. There’s a shocked squeak from him, but when he feels Mark’s finger dipping between his ass, the noise becomes a breathy moan.
The lube is somewhat cold, so he works the single finger in slowly, moving in and out as Ethan relaxes around him. When he’s got him good and soft, he works in another finger, his free hand still pinning Ethan’s arm.
Ethan pushes back on his hand, giving him those sweet moans that carry an addictively light tone. He’s past the knuckles now, working them in further through the tight heat until he crooks them up and has Ethan crying out. He digs them in a little harder, leaning down to bite at his shoulder.
He preps him until he can’t stand it anymore, his fingers slipping in and out with ease. Ethan whines again when the scissoring stops. Is he always this whiny? Mark thinks, trying not to get distracted as he rolls the condom over himself. He grabs Ethan by the waist, lifting his ass into the air and lining him up with his cock.
Definitely a good pick. He’s practically begging for him, and the volume only rises as Mark slowly pushes in. Ethan moans into the mattress, adjusting his head so that his nose isn’t pressing down. Positions didn’t matter much to Mark, but he doesn’t want those needle fingers digging into him while he’s trying to get off.
Experimentally, he thrusts forwards. And dear lord. “God you’re fucking tight.”
He swallows hard, rolling his hips again and lavishing the way he can feel the muscles stretching around him. Tightening and expanding as he thrusts harder, each time forcing a breath from the smaller man.
Soon enough, his hips smack against Ethan’s as he sets a brutal pace. And when it’s not enough, he finally lets go of his arm to grab the back of his neck and fully pound him into the mattress.
Ethan’s got his mouth running like a motor, fueling the heat in his gut. “Oh shit oh fuck oh fuck,” he curses, digging his knees into the mattress and pushing back against Mark.
He fucks him hard and rough, taking out his frustrations while he’s got him bent over and hard for him. Ethan’s hands grip the sheets and threaten to tear them, but at no point does he stop rolling his hips to meet Mark’s pace. He’s got fucking stamina, and Mark’s impressed by the skinny twink.
He lets his head fall forwards, hair damp from sweat and swinging down as he thrusts forwards, taking him deep and hearing the moans grow hoarse. He’s close, unbelievably close, and he’s not sure how much longer he can last until Ethan forms a coherent word-
“Harder”
And Mark is done for. Dick throbbing, heat scorching, his jaw goes slack as he cums, a guttural moan spilling from him. His hips twitch, stuttering as he loses the intensity. The hand on Ethan’s neck moves to jack him off, the sweat on his palm and the precum moving slickly up and down his cock. He spills on Mark’s sheets after three solid strokes, voice cracking with the forceful way he says his name as he cums.
Utterly spent, Mark falls forwards, his body refusing to hold himself up any longer. His skin sticks to Ethan’s, who, for a minute, is content to be crushed by his weight.
“Uh....hey,” he rasps, carefully stretching out his arms, “Can I use your shower?”
“Yeah man, go ahead”
He pulls out with a soft grunt, rolling over to let Ethan get up. Making his way to the edge of the bed, he ties off the condom and tosses it in the trash, considering a shower for himself.
Yeah, actually, a shower would be good.
The water’s already running when he opens the door, thin wafts of steam curling around the ceiling. He steps into the tub without a word, despite startling Ethan. He rinses out his hair, standing unabashedly close to him under the spray of water. Ethan’s giving out awkward vibes, and Mark’s not ready for the weird little ‘See ya later’ tension that’s inevitable, so he lathers up his hands with soap and works them over Ethan’s chest.
He doesn’t want the weirdness that will come. All he wants is the temporary closeness and afterglow that outshines the horrible week he’s had. He just wants one normal moment like this. Ethan gives in to the touch, leaning against him while he gets soaped up. He lets him, continuing the repetitive motions until the water runs cooler.
After he’s found his clothes and parted, Mark tosses the comforter into the corner for a washing later. He’s never been a big blanket person anyways. On his back, counting the stains on the ceiling and listening to people fight above him, he can’t sleep. He wants too, of course he wants too. But his brain forces his eyes open and muscles to remain tense. Lately, things have been weighing a little heavier. Amy’s noticed it, not like anyone could miss it. She hasn’t spoken up, but it hasn’t been a problem.
Yet.
For now, he waits. For sleep, or Amy. Whichever comes first.