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120_minutenTeam: Schwarz
Challenge: Romantik – Wenn’s sonst nichts ist – fürs Team
Fandom: The Exorcist
Titel: Burned Grace
Inhalt: Tomás gets possessed and Marcus suffers much more than him.
Anmerkung: Das… das wollte einfach raus, ich entschuldige mich bei allen Beteiligten. Story is in English. Es wird canon-typische Gewalt beschrieben, insbesondere Verletzungen an den Händen.
Anmerkung 2:Falls jemand das Fandom nicht kennt: Marcus und Tomás sind als Exorzistenpaar unterwegs durch Amerika, Tomás ist katholischer Priester, Marcus hat als permanenten Beziehungsstatus zur Kirche „It’s complicated“ eingestellt. Das Gebet am Ende („Profane thing you are loved…“) wird in der Sendung als der geilste Scheiß gegen Dämonen gehandelt und „Invocation of the Virgin Mary“ genannt, dürfte aber den Schreiberlingen entsprungen sein. Macht nix, es ist so schön ;_;
Burned Grace
It’s 3 am in the morning because of course it bloody is when Marcus hears Tomás kick against the shoddy door of their hotel room, hissing to be let in.
Marcus is up from his bed in a second, flat, his eyes blacking out for a moment, and then he tears the door open, grabbing at Tómas.
“What? What is it?“ Marcus screams, pulling him inside but he can already see it, the way Tomás keeps all his fingers outstretched as far from him as possible. They are burned, badly, blistering and red - but only on the right hand.
Tomás is breathing heavily. “I was at church,” he says as matter-of-factly as he can through gritted teeth. “The one down the road, I told you I would go.”
„Yes,“ Marcus says, wondering how he managed to fall asleep without making sure Tomás was back, but that is a reproach for later. He can't even remember going to bed, but he remembers Tomás full of fitful energy, buzzing around the room, pulling a shirt and running shoes from his bag before putting them away again and announcing that he would go to church to clear his head.
Marcus had let him go – it was only normal to want some private reprieve after the hell on earth they had faced not too long ago. And apparently he had then thought it a great idea to sit on the motel bed, fully clothed, his shoes still on – alright, Marcus remembers going to bed now.
„As soon as I entered, I felt dizziness,” Tomás continues. “I thought nothing of it but then I touched the Holy Water and… and…“
He holds his hand up. His eyes are wide and black and so afraid, but suddenly he tears his gaze away, speaks to the floor, stutters, his accent spilling into every single vowel. "I couldn't finish the cross sign. It burned right through my clothes, my shoulders..."
It's 3 am and Tomás Ortega, a catholic priest, has apparently been possessed by a demon.
In a church.
He is ashamed, Marcus realizes with a start, Tomás is ashamed as if any of this was his fault, as if Casey Rand was at fault for her mum being a very lonely kid some forty years ago, as if Harriet Cole had been at fault for trying to do the right thing all her life, as if this is how it works, you do bad things and then a demon comes and rips you apart from the inside.
“Did anything happen last time?“ Marcus asks but Tomás is groaning before the last word has left his mouth.
He makes a motion as if to pull his heart from his chest for Marcus to see, to examine, until the pain reminds him that he is not free to gesture around wildly. He flinches, his hand caught between their bodies and Marcus grabs his wrist, rubs over the soft skin carefully looking at the wounds. It isn't the worst he has ever seen but it's the worst he has seen on Tomás so far. „Did anything happen, Tomás?“
It had been a run-of-the-mill thing as much as these things can be one, a young man, not particularly evil not particularly good and the demon didn’t put up much of a fight, almost as if it had been regretting its choice of host anyways. There was nothing out of the ordinary as far as Marcus had sensed but Tomás is getting third degree burns from Holy Water so there is obviously something missing here.
“I would have told you,“ Tomás doesn’t pull away, gets closer until he is almost pressed to Marcus‘ chest and looks up at him with desperate child-like honesty in his eyes. Marcus shivers and he wants to draw him in, hug him as tight as possible. “I swear it, Marcus, I promise it, nothing happened, I did not invite the demon to reside in me!“
That overly detailed promise tells Marcus that Tomás had thought about doing just that (another thing to file for later, and by God is Marcus looking forward to that lecture again) but other than that he believes him.
Tomás is not as reckless as he used to be, he knows his limits (or at least he thinks he can see them, far away at the horizon of mortality, Marcus assumes) and he would never endanger them like this.
“I know,” Marcus finally says and Tomás breathes out his relief. As if his biggest worry was that Marcus was angry with him, which tells Marcus that a lecture of a different kind is in order – maybe an apology too, but first, they have to figure this one out.
“Notice anything yet?” Marcus lets go of Tomás’ hands. Tomás frowns and stares at his fingers like he can't comprehend why Marcus isn't touching them anymore.
"Not yet. But it must be a demon, right? Why else would I burn."
"Yeah," Marcus says. "Why else."
An uncomfortable silence fills the room now that Tomás isn't gasping anymore. They are still very close, closer than Marcus should probably get to a possible demon, but he is busy staring at Tomás’ flushed face, the bite marks in his lower lip, as if he had tried to keep himself from screaming.
His mind jumps forward, hours or days into a brutal future where Tomás is covered head to toe in sores, blisters, drenched in sweat and blood and the remains of holy water, screeching profanities and making Marcus witness his absolute worst.
At least he hopes that’s how it will go, Marcus thinks, because if it is going to be something else, something sacrilegiously seductive, Marcus isn’t equipped to handle it.
“You… should tie me up,” Tomás finally says, eyeing their duffle bag full of rope and chains in the corner warily. “I don’t want to hurt you when... it… takes over.”
“Don’t think you could,” Marcus says with a smile but it’s just talk. They both got their asses handed to him by demons in young children and old frail men countless times. Tomás packs a punch without possession aiding him and Marcus finds himself mentally going for the chains before he remembers that they have nowhere sturdy enough to fasten them to.
“Get it out of me,” he hears Tomás say and because they are still so close to each other, Marcus feels the plea on his neck. “Whatever it takes, get it out of me. I cannot feel it yet but I don’t know how long that will last.”
He sounds helpless and it breaks Marcus’ heart right down in the middle but they cannot both be losing it right now.
“I know how to do my job,” he answers harshly as he clasps Tomás’ face, forces him to look up from his wounded hand into Marcus’ eyes. “You know yours?”
“Yes,” Tomás says after a moment of hesitation. He even manages a grin framed by Marcus' fingers. “Don’t let the bastard win.”
“Right." Marcus almost lets go of him before he remembers something and tightens his grip, not enough to hurt but hard enough to give Tomás pause. "It’s not your fault, Tomás. You weren’t asking for this, you don't deserve it, it just… happened. And now you fight it. Got it?”
“I will. With all I have.”
“Good. Make the bugger sorry for touching you.”
Resolution, clear as daylight, lights up in Tomás’ eyes and Marcus feels his ego swell up to an impossible size.
They set up quickly; push the beds in front of the door, close the windows and the blinds. They have no candles or incense to burn, so Marcus just gets the holy water and the ropes and ties Tomás to the chair.
“Make it tighter,” Tomás demands as soon as Marcus takes a step back, pushing against the knots. “You cannot be nice to me!”
Marcus whistles. “Didn’t know you were the type, Father.”
Tomás huffs. “Tighter,” he repeats and Marcus relents and pulls the ropes until they bite into the skin of Tomás’ arms. His burned hand almost glistens in the dim light, and Marcus is about to ask him if he wants some aloe for that, but Tomás is still frowning as he wiggles against his constraints and Marcus thinks that he will need much more care when this is over anyways.
And it will be over, Marcus promises himself, snarling at his own mind. Just an exorcism on the bloke he cherishes above all, nothing more. Piece of cake, really.
“Let’s try it then,” he says, stretching his neck and grabbing his bible. He doesn’t need it, everything he has to say he knows by heart and he has drawn so many birds on the pages of the Book of Job that he could hardly make out the words anyway. But if he carries the bible and his rosary he won’t try to caress Tomás’ hair or cheeks. “Any personal favorites you’d like to hear?”
Tomás blinks and then he actually seems to consider Marcus’ bullshit, the darling.
“The usual”, Tomás says, smiling and starts intoning "Our father who art in Heaven" loud enough to fill a cathedral.
Marcus joins him, switches to Spanish to make this a little more fun until Tomás snaps at him.
"Stop being nice to me!"
Marcus sighs and concedes, mumbling the words in Latin instead, watching every tiny movement in Tomás’ eyes and shoulders but there is nothing at first.
They do three rounds of that, Marcus throwing in a Hail Mary just for some variation. He considers asking if maybe Tomás touched a sandwich grill on accident but keeps his mouth busy with all the prayers to the archangels and saints and whoever is in charge in the Americas in the middle of the night.
Marcus prays and Tomás prays, changes to Spanish as he gets tired, his hand must hurt an awful lot by now, but he just keeps praying and he keeps sitting nicely on his chair, no floating, no flickering lights, not a single vile word from his mouth.
“Son of the morning,” Marcus finally says, before Tomás can start giving himself the Last Rites. “Banished from grace, profane thing, ashes on the earth…”
Tomás has stopped speaking, staring at him with a small, dream-like smile.
“You are relieved, outcast. Fallen angel, you are loved,” continues Marcus and he feels himself blush as this is probably the first and only time in history that somebody got wooed by the Invocation of the Virgin Mary, but either Tomás is even more of a romantic disaster than Marcus thought, or …
…or they finally got the demon out.
Tomás’ head snaps back with enough force to almost topple the chair, his body thrashing and kicking, struggling against the ropes that are barely holding him in place. Marcus makes a fist around his crucifix, raises his voice until he shouts prayers and psalms against the thing digging around inside his Tomás.
“Tell me your name,” Marcus demands, hoarse already, pain evident in every word. “I demand your name!”
Unpredictable like a spider inside a glass Tomás’ body goes limp again, sagging against the ropes and Marcus braces for the worst.
When Tomás opens his eyes again, there is no third iris though.
Instead they are comically huge and yellow with a black slit in each eye, darting around the room as if he hadn’t seen a motel before.
“Oh,” Tomás says, in English and in the most outrageous British accent Marcus has ever heard. “Hello there!”
“What the fuck,” whispers Marcus, almost dropping his rosary. Tomás blinks his snake eyes.
“The name’s Crowley,” the demon says. “And I think I took a wrong turn somewhere.”
Challenge: Romantik – Wenn’s sonst nichts ist – fürs Team
Fandom: The Exorcist
Titel: Burned Grace
Inhalt: Tomás gets possessed and Marcus suffers much more than him.
Anmerkung: Das… das wollte einfach raus, ich entschuldige mich bei allen Beteiligten. Story is in English. Es wird canon-typische Gewalt beschrieben, insbesondere Verletzungen an den Händen.
Anmerkung 2:Falls jemand das Fandom nicht kennt: Marcus und Tomás sind als Exorzistenpaar unterwegs durch Amerika, Tomás ist katholischer Priester, Marcus hat als permanenten Beziehungsstatus zur Kirche „It’s complicated“ eingestellt. Das Gebet am Ende („Profane thing you are loved…“) wird in der Sendung als der geilste Scheiß gegen Dämonen gehandelt und „Invocation of the Virgin Mary“ genannt, dürfte aber den Schreiberlingen entsprungen sein. Macht nix, es ist so schön ;_;
Burned Grace
It’s 3 am in the morning because of course it bloody is when Marcus hears Tomás kick against the shoddy door of their hotel room, hissing to be let in.
Marcus is up from his bed in a second, flat, his eyes blacking out for a moment, and then he tears the door open, grabbing at Tómas.
“What? What is it?“ Marcus screams, pulling him inside but he can already see it, the way Tomás keeps all his fingers outstretched as far from him as possible. They are burned, badly, blistering and red - but only on the right hand.
Tomás is breathing heavily. “I was at church,” he says as matter-of-factly as he can through gritted teeth. “The one down the road, I told you I would go.”
„Yes,“ Marcus says, wondering how he managed to fall asleep without making sure Tomás was back, but that is a reproach for later. He can't even remember going to bed, but he remembers Tomás full of fitful energy, buzzing around the room, pulling a shirt and running shoes from his bag before putting them away again and announcing that he would go to church to clear his head.
Marcus had let him go – it was only normal to want some private reprieve after the hell on earth they had faced not too long ago. And apparently he had then thought it a great idea to sit on the motel bed, fully clothed, his shoes still on – alright, Marcus remembers going to bed now.
„As soon as I entered, I felt dizziness,” Tomás continues. “I thought nothing of it but then I touched the Holy Water and… and…“
He holds his hand up. His eyes are wide and black and so afraid, but suddenly he tears his gaze away, speaks to the floor, stutters, his accent spilling into every single vowel. "I couldn't finish the cross sign. It burned right through my clothes, my shoulders..."
It's 3 am and Tomás Ortega, a catholic priest, has apparently been possessed by a demon.
In a church.
He is ashamed, Marcus realizes with a start, Tomás is ashamed as if any of this was his fault, as if Casey Rand was at fault for her mum being a very lonely kid some forty years ago, as if Harriet Cole had been at fault for trying to do the right thing all her life, as if this is how it works, you do bad things and then a demon comes and rips you apart from the inside.
“Did anything happen last time?“ Marcus asks but Tomás is groaning before the last word has left his mouth.
He makes a motion as if to pull his heart from his chest for Marcus to see, to examine, until the pain reminds him that he is not free to gesture around wildly. He flinches, his hand caught between their bodies and Marcus grabs his wrist, rubs over the soft skin carefully looking at the wounds. It isn't the worst he has ever seen but it's the worst he has seen on Tomás so far. „Did anything happen, Tomás?“
It had been a run-of-the-mill thing as much as these things can be one, a young man, not particularly evil not particularly good and the demon didn’t put up much of a fight, almost as if it had been regretting its choice of host anyways. There was nothing out of the ordinary as far as Marcus had sensed but Tomás is getting third degree burns from Holy Water so there is obviously something missing here.
“I would have told you,“ Tomás doesn’t pull away, gets closer until he is almost pressed to Marcus‘ chest and looks up at him with desperate child-like honesty in his eyes. Marcus shivers and he wants to draw him in, hug him as tight as possible. “I swear it, Marcus, I promise it, nothing happened, I did not invite the demon to reside in me!“
That overly detailed promise tells Marcus that Tomás had thought about doing just that (another thing to file for later, and by God is Marcus looking forward to that lecture again) but other than that he believes him.
Tomás is not as reckless as he used to be, he knows his limits (or at least he thinks he can see them, far away at the horizon of mortality, Marcus assumes) and he would never endanger them like this.
“I know,” Marcus finally says and Tomás breathes out his relief. As if his biggest worry was that Marcus was angry with him, which tells Marcus that a lecture of a different kind is in order – maybe an apology too, but first, they have to figure this one out.
“Notice anything yet?” Marcus lets go of Tomás’ hands. Tomás frowns and stares at his fingers like he can't comprehend why Marcus isn't touching them anymore.
"Not yet. But it must be a demon, right? Why else would I burn."
"Yeah," Marcus says. "Why else."
An uncomfortable silence fills the room now that Tomás isn't gasping anymore. They are still very close, closer than Marcus should probably get to a possible demon, but he is busy staring at Tomás’ flushed face, the bite marks in his lower lip, as if he had tried to keep himself from screaming.
His mind jumps forward, hours or days into a brutal future where Tomás is covered head to toe in sores, blisters, drenched in sweat and blood and the remains of holy water, screeching profanities and making Marcus witness his absolute worst.
At least he hopes that’s how it will go, Marcus thinks, because if it is going to be something else, something sacrilegiously seductive, Marcus isn’t equipped to handle it.
“You… should tie me up,” Tomás finally says, eyeing their duffle bag full of rope and chains in the corner warily. “I don’t want to hurt you when... it… takes over.”
“Don’t think you could,” Marcus says with a smile but it’s just talk. They both got their asses handed to him by demons in young children and old frail men countless times. Tomás packs a punch without possession aiding him and Marcus finds himself mentally going for the chains before he remembers that they have nowhere sturdy enough to fasten them to.
“Get it out of me,” he hears Tomás say and because they are still so close to each other, Marcus feels the plea on his neck. “Whatever it takes, get it out of me. I cannot feel it yet but I don’t know how long that will last.”
He sounds helpless and it breaks Marcus’ heart right down in the middle but they cannot both be losing it right now.
“I know how to do my job,” he answers harshly as he clasps Tomás’ face, forces him to look up from his wounded hand into Marcus’ eyes. “You know yours?”
“Yes,” Tomás says after a moment of hesitation. He even manages a grin framed by Marcus' fingers. “Don’t let the bastard win.”
“Right." Marcus almost lets go of him before he remembers something and tightens his grip, not enough to hurt but hard enough to give Tomás pause. "It’s not your fault, Tomás. You weren’t asking for this, you don't deserve it, it just… happened. And now you fight it. Got it?”
“I will. With all I have.”
“Good. Make the bugger sorry for touching you.”
Resolution, clear as daylight, lights up in Tomás’ eyes and Marcus feels his ego swell up to an impossible size.
They set up quickly; push the beds in front of the door, close the windows and the blinds. They have no candles or incense to burn, so Marcus just gets the holy water and the ropes and ties Tomás to the chair.
“Make it tighter,” Tomás demands as soon as Marcus takes a step back, pushing against the knots. “You cannot be nice to me!”
Marcus whistles. “Didn’t know you were the type, Father.”
Tomás huffs. “Tighter,” he repeats and Marcus relents and pulls the ropes until they bite into the skin of Tomás’ arms. His burned hand almost glistens in the dim light, and Marcus is about to ask him if he wants some aloe for that, but Tomás is still frowning as he wiggles against his constraints and Marcus thinks that he will need much more care when this is over anyways.
And it will be over, Marcus promises himself, snarling at his own mind. Just an exorcism on the bloke he cherishes above all, nothing more. Piece of cake, really.
“Let’s try it then,” he says, stretching his neck and grabbing his bible. He doesn’t need it, everything he has to say he knows by heart and he has drawn so many birds on the pages of the Book of Job that he could hardly make out the words anyway. But if he carries the bible and his rosary he won’t try to caress Tomás’ hair or cheeks. “Any personal favorites you’d like to hear?”
Tomás blinks and then he actually seems to consider Marcus’ bullshit, the darling.
“The usual”, Tomás says, smiling and starts intoning "Our father who art in Heaven" loud enough to fill a cathedral.
Marcus joins him, switches to Spanish to make this a little more fun until Tomás snaps at him.
"Stop being nice to me!"
Marcus sighs and concedes, mumbling the words in Latin instead, watching every tiny movement in Tomás’ eyes and shoulders but there is nothing at first.
They do three rounds of that, Marcus throwing in a Hail Mary just for some variation. He considers asking if maybe Tomás touched a sandwich grill on accident but keeps his mouth busy with all the prayers to the archangels and saints and whoever is in charge in the Americas in the middle of the night.
Marcus prays and Tomás prays, changes to Spanish as he gets tired, his hand must hurt an awful lot by now, but he just keeps praying and he keeps sitting nicely on his chair, no floating, no flickering lights, not a single vile word from his mouth.
“Son of the morning,” Marcus finally says, before Tomás can start giving himself the Last Rites. “Banished from grace, profane thing, ashes on the earth…”
Tomás has stopped speaking, staring at him with a small, dream-like smile.
“You are relieved, outcast. Fallen angel, you are loved,” continues Marcus and he feels himself blush as this is probably the first and only time in history that somebody got wooed by the Invocation of the Virgin Mary, but either Tomás is even more of a romantic disaster than Marcus thought, or …
…or they finally got the demon out.
Tomás’ head snaps back with enough force to almost topple the chair, his body thrashing and kicking, struggling against the ropes that are barely holding him in place. Marcus makes a fist around his crucifix, raises his voice until he shouts prayers and psalms against the thing digging around inside his Tomás.
“Tell me your name,” Marcus demands, hoarse already, pain evident in every word. “I demand your name!”
Unpredictable like a spider inside a glass Tomás’ body goes limp again, sagging against the ropes and Marcus braces for the worst.
When Tomás opens his eyes again, there is no third iris though.
Instead they are comically huge and yellow with a black slit in each eye, darting around the room as if he hadn’t seen a motel before.
“Oh,” Tomás says, in English and in the most outrageous British accent Marcus has ever heard. “Hello there!”
“What the fuck,” whispers Marcus, almost dropping his rosary. Tomás blinks his snake eyes.
“The name’s Crowley,” the demon says. “And I think I took a wrong turn somewhere.”
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Date: 2019-07-25 06:37 pm (UTC)Ich habe es immer noch nicht gesehen (nur reingeguckt, aber brrrr, Bodyhorror deluxe x_x), aber die beiden sind wirklich absolut zauberhaft, sowohl einzeln wie auch allein!
Hey, sieh an! Tomás war auf der Schule für Lieblingscharaktere, die sich permanent in Gefahr begeben! :D *hust*
NATÜRLICH IST DAS SEINE GRÖßTE SORGE, MARCUS, DU IDIOT!!! Was denn sonst?? *Haare rauf* Das merke sogar ich und ich kenne euch kaum!!
Und Gott, wie herzzereißend ist das denn als Tomás ihn anfleht, den Dämon aus ihm rauszuholen ... man spürt richtig seine Panik und ich bekomme ein bisschen Beklemmungen beim Lesen, weil ugh ugh ugh...! Der Gedanke etwas in sich drin zu haben, etwas so feindseliges, was langsam die Kontrolle übernimmt und einen auffrisst... stuff of nightmares!
Marcus whistles. “Didn’t know you were the type, Father.”
*hust*
Mein Gehirn wanderte dann auch in eine andere Richtung.... la la la....
Priestersex. I want it.
UND DANN DAS ENDE , MAN, DAS ENDE???!!!!!
*gasp*
I DEMAND MORE!!
Wo ist die Fortsetzung????? *Haare rauf*
I mean ...?????
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Wo ist der nächste Teil, bitte schön, danke schön, oh mein Gott, I did not see that coming???!!!