The Imagination Latibule: Moon Knight - The Rise of the Moon

Chapter 9

When the shower water ran cold, you threw on a long t-shirt – one of Steven's to find comfort from him when he couldn't be with you – and it fitted like a dress. Then you tousled your hair until it was vaguely dry, and left the bathroom. Marc was still sprawled across the floor and you wandered past, slightly opening the curtains and admiring the view of the great pyramids. You heard Marc sigh, and turned.

"What's wrong..." you asked, "baby?" Marc's eyes peaked up at the pet name and he tensed, his abs flexing slightly. It was something he'd called you a few times – endearing in the way Steven called you love and you called him sweetheart. But when you said it, there was the suggestion of something more. You'd meant it flirtatiously and he knew. You sat yourself down by his side.

"Nothing," he said, taking another swig from the bottle in his hand. God he was giving you mixed signals. On the one hand, he was sat, stretched out and basking in the evening Egyptian light in nothing but his boxers, and you'd noticed (it wasn't unobvious) how close his hand rested to the bulge beneath. He was big. A few times he'd flexed his fingers, brushing across it, and you'd had to turn away to avoid him seeing you blush. He was sculpted like Davinci himself had put a chisel to his skin and then bronzed it to perfection. But, despite the provocative position he had no intention of moving from, he was barely talking, and when he did, his answers were short and snappy.

"It doesn't seem like nothing," you said, snatching the bottle from his hand and taking a swig. Whiskey. Disgusting. You made a gagging noise and he smirked as you gritted your teeth and swallowed, watching as you rested your head back against the bed. "What?"

His smirk faded and he took back the bottle, drumming his fingers on his v-line. "Nothing," he said again, taking another shot and putting the bottle down on his right side, away from you. You fell quiet, drawing your eyes quickly away from his body when he caught you staring, and looked out the window as the sun fell slowly behind the pyramids. You could feel his eyes on you, and it was making you hot. Eventually, you couldn't take the silence any longer.

"Why are you sitting on the floor when there's perfectly comfortable furniture?" you asked him, shifting uncomfortably as the wooden slats provided no luxury, unlike the sheets that beckoned you.

"I'm happy on the floor."

"Suit yourself, I need comfort," you said, going to stand. As you turned towards him to push yourself up, Marc reached out and grabbed the back of your thigh and pulled you over him, and then his hands were on your waist, pushing your hips downwards, forcing your legs apart until you were kneeling over his lap in a wide split. Your knee knocked the bottle over, what little alcohol left spilling across the floor. You gasped, feeling him growing hard; throbbing beneath you as he held you tightly against him. A small groan escaped his lips; you knew he could feel your heartbeat quicken.

"Comfortable?" he asked, barely a whisper.

Your breath hitched in your throat and your hands instinctively travelled to his shoulders as you thought of what to say. So many thoughts were running through your head. "That was a waste of alcohol," you stuttered, your voice barely functioning as he slowly rolled his hips, grinding himself against you. You gasped slightly again, leaning your forehead against his as you put your hands on top of his as they clutched your thighs, fingers slipping through his.

"That doesn't matter," he muttered and you nodded. Your heavy breathing elicited a reaction from Marc and he smirked, holding you still as you tried to grind your hips forward, your core aching for him. You whined as he rubbed his thumbs in concentric circles into your hips, travelling lower with each circle. The feeling of his fingers on your bare skin made you moan.

"Marc," you whimpered.

"Yes, baby?" he purred, but you had no following remark, and Marc chuckled. "D'you know how long I've been watching you through Steven's eyes?" he asked. You shook your head, breath shaky, and as you ran your fingernails over his chest, his throaty moan sent you spiralling. You tugged at the waistband of his boxers and then let it snap back and his grip tightened, fingerprints leaving a mark. The thin piece of fabric was the only thing between you and him, and it was quickly soaking through.