Work Text:
Markus thinks he’s in love.
He’s heard the word used before—love. Casually, mostly.
“I love this song,” Josh had said once.
They were listening to older music, as Markus had insisted; “You never know what you might have missed out on, man.”
He saw people fall in love with his paintings, spend long periods of time studying them. The painting would never do anything spectacular like dance or change under their eyes, yet people look as if it were forever moving and fascinating.
“Absolutely stunning, love it,” a rounded woman said at one of Markus’ exhibitions.
But that’s too easy, Markus thinks. Connor is more.
Connor is small smiles and waves when he notices Markus.
Connor is posing still—so still—in the position Markus placed him in, down to his fingertips, while Markus paints him. Connor occasionally asking how the painting is but never out loud—so still.
Connor is saying comments with half a bite until Markus sees him smiling, teasing he calls it.
“I’m teasing you, Markus”
Connor is refusing to take off his LED because he doesn’t want to.
“I think it looks cool,” Connor said with a sure smile. Markus loves to watch it flash yellow when he kisses the corner of Connor’s mouth, then back to blue when he grabs hold of his hand.
Connor is pretty gasps and moans that he tries to swallow down but fails. The quick blinking of his eyes in succession before he comes.
“Pretty boy,” Markus says.
Connor is caring for a man that is nothing but uninviting to outsiders. He found his way into his heart as his son. That’s what Hank calls him— his son.
Markus is grateful everyday that he was enough to help Connor be free. He thinks, for a moment, that maybe thats why Connor expresses affection to him. Because he thinks he owes him. But a long talk from Connor did just enough to convince him otherwise.
Connor is lovely and warm and fascinating.
Markus thinks he’s in love.