Mark Hurston

Memories from the evening still flooded the witch’s mind; delicious wine and dinner as the sun set on the Seine, the nerves running through him as he made his first appearance on Adam’s arm at the Paris Institute for one of those political events he always wondered about; the seedy, smoky jazz club they found themselves in after, stumbling into a cab together, and the frantic removal of clothes in a trail leading up to the bed they found themselves laid out in. Mark had just rolled off of the older, heavy breaths and sensations still wrecking his sweat-covered body. He was rarely affectionate with Adam outside of the bedroom, beyond simple kisses the occasional hand-holding. Moments of clingy aftercare were his favorite, though. He reveled in the nonverbal ways of letting Adam know that he’d done a good job, that he was loved. Still panting lightly, he glued himself to the other’s side, one hand tucked behind the nape of Adam’s neck, the other slowly tracing the intricate runes over his chest. Mark’s thoughts were still too clouded to really form a coherent response, but he nodded slowly and kissed the nearest rune he could reach. “Mon ange...C’est si bon.”

Every instinct within him began screaming to reach for his seraph blade, the survival instinct of his angel blood boiling within but Adam refused. Even as the swiss knife was pulled and cut into his finger, he didn’t even twitch as instead his gaze darkened, brows furrowed and he focused on Mark. This happening, whatever it was that was bound by their blood, it shouldn’t have happened, the shadowhunter within him should not have allowed it. Yet the words floated toward him like the wind, swirled around his mind as he imagined vividly a much younger witch meeting a fairly handsome, powerful warlock.  “He..laid hands on you?” Killing another being, it wasn’t anything that fazed Adam yet. But the idea that the world would see it, that maybe he himself would see it, as nothing but a ploy for Mark to reach power needed to be quenched. It did worry him, the implications of his boyfriend having had nowhere to go while being with that man to the point of death being the only way to get away. It had him take a step closer, their chests pressed together and his head tilted down. There was no judgement in his gaze until then, not despite what he had heard. “You did it for the greater good.” Was Adam’s conclusion. Their pinky fingers remained entwined, actually, he made a point of squeezing it as he inched in, foreheads rested together and eyes finally closed from that intense gaze. Mark smelled like alcohol, mixed into the scent of his cologne which the older loved so much. But intoxication was no excuse. Something about their blood being joined, such a command spoken to never lose a word of what was being said- it felt like mistrust. Like betrayal. At last his other hand slipped under the coat of his suit, not to reach for his blade, but to his stele instead. The mystic metal was brushed over a rune on his stomach, lighting it up and cutting the magic filled air like a knife, stifling the power. He broke all contact to Mark in an instant, though still only inches away. “Did you hex me?” A whisper of a breath.

To feel Adam press closer, to be affirmed in something he had never divulged - it was cathartic. For years, Mark carried that around like a rock in his back pocket, always wondering if anyone suspected him of murder- the relative lack of investigation into Vince’s death was partly due to how hated he was- it would have taken decades to track all his enemies. Now someone else knew - someone he trusted not to use it to hurt him. Still, he’d seen only a few of the ways the Clave could extract information when they deemed it necessary, and deep down, Mark still felt that Adam had a duty to a set of rules that took priority over any witch. The ritual was just a little insurance that it would take more than some tough questioning to get it out of the shadowhunter if that awful day ever came.

 Using his gifts left him feeling warm on the inside, as the closeness and comfort of the other man had him feeling warm on the outside. Their blood had just barely started to stain his suit, but he didn’t care- until everything was suddenly replaced by cold air and a colder, bright light from between them. Mark took two firm steps back at Adam’s question, eyebrows raising high, and then pulling close together and in the dim glow of the stele. “Do you feel hexed?” The words came out with a hard, offended edge to it, only amplified by his drunkenness. “It was a binding spell. What I said is bound between us. If you say something, I will know, whether it is volunteered or forced out of you. That’s it.” 

 Anyone could see that Adam had lost his heart to this young witch. Regardless of all that Mark had done, all the trouble they had been through, nothing could make the shadowhunter love him any less. It was in his eyes, that steady gaze on his boyfriend, as it was in the way his fingers would always seek out some sort of contact, even if just a brief of fingertips against his hip. The kiss was inevitable, brief and incomplete, yet better than to not be kissing his love at all. Not to forget the answer so certainly following the earlier question having the older man’s heart throb with deepest exhilaration. Instead of an answer given himself, Adam simply smiled, teeth giving a short bite to his lower lip until it pulled away itself with a grin and their night continued. While his lover had taken to downing the flute, Adam’s remained untouched. At a different occasion he might try more of it, maybe if someday the younger would master brewing it himself, but this night he decided to simply dance and sober up to get the both of them safely back. Which didn’t mean it was any less enjoyable to see Mark unwind from any stress, simply drowning in the rhythm of the music, their bodies ever attached as they danced the night away. It would be a beautiful memory burned into his mind, the laughter of the other, his voice singing the tunes and that smile on his beautiful face. Cold air hit them hours later, welcoming them to the dark of the night. His arm was wound gentle in support around Mark’s waist to keep him steady. The car was close before it became distant again, his body guided into the dark woods away from any remaining guests until nothing but silence surrounded them. Abandoned at the edge of the clearing, the shadowhunter watched as his lovely witch stumbled around drawing a circle, if one may call it that, eventually peaking his interest with those slurred words. Looking around, his brows furrowed, yet he tried to have his smile remain, although faint. “Should you really use magic while drunk?” Should he really use magic at all while being in the states? Adam wasn’t sure, but he was also not keen to finding out about the consequences if there were any, yet- interest got the better of him as he stepped closer, over the lines drawn into the dirt to not smear them, until his hands could cup Mark’s pretty face. “Mon cher.”

As soon as Adam stepped inside the poorly drawn circle, the wind started to pick up around them, stirring up leaves high above them. He heard the concerns about his use of magic, and steadily ignored them. If Mark didn’t do this now, he might not ever have the courage to do it. Staring up into Adam’s face, he pulled one of the heavy hands framing him and held it in his own, keeping his gaze locked on Adam as he opened the Swiss army knife on his keychain and dragged the blade across the the tip of the shadowhunter’s pinky finger until drops of blood broke through the cut. He repeated the same motion on his own hand and wrapped his pinky around Adam’s, the thick red substance starting to trickle down both their hands until they couldn’t tell their blood apart. Mark’s gaze intensified, stepping even closer to the hunter. “You will never repeat what is spoken in this circle to another soul, living or dead.” He commanded in a low voice, feeling the leaves rustle and stir up against their ankles and legs from the wind before settling unceremoniously at their feet again.

“Before I was High Witch, Vincent was High Warlock. I was visiting Chicago and had a bad run-in with a group of hunters...Vince saved me. We dated for three years, he put me through grad school, and I moved in with him - That’s how I came to Chicago. He was a terrible leader, he let witches die, he ruined relationships with other communities, he was abusive and cold. I wanted to leave, but I was trapped and there was nowhere I could go that he wouldn’t find me...I had to do something.” Though the slur of alcohol hung heavy on his lips, he kept that intense gaze on Adam’s face, watching him drink in the story, only lit by the moon above them.

“Every night, Vince would have me bring him a glass of wine in his study while he worked at night. He’d been especially angry about a deal that slipped through the cracks, so I made him a special glass to calm him down. When I went to check up on him an hour later, he was slumped in his chair, dead. I took over as High Witch and met you about six months after that.”

open to: m/f/anyone connection: business partner/associate, an investor, old friend (could be another werewolf or supernatural being), someone who needs help with money or something like that, go with what you want tho~

“Lovely little place you’ve picked,” Marcus commented as he took a seat across from the person who he was there to have dinner with, with one hand he unbuttoned his suit jacket so that he could sit down, glancing out the large windows next to their table. It was a tall building and from what Marcus could tell it was expensive as well, either they were trying to impress him or this was some other tactic to butter him up. After a moment or two of looking out the large windows while the waiter moved over to fill Marcus’ water glass and offer the drinks menu, Marcus finally turned to glance at the person across from him, flashing a small and polite smile on that didn’t fully touch his dark gaze. “Scotch, please, neat, make it a double,” he spoke to the waiter before nodding to the other, “– you look well, it’s nice to see you again.”

“My parents are far worse, it was nothing.” Happily he stepped closer, a hand placed on Mark’s hip while the other was placed at his side. There was nothing he loved more than being this close to his boyfriend, surrounded by others yet in their own little world where everything around them became distant. Along to the music they got into a rhythm, not overdoing it since it would mean they would have distance between them and so it was a simply motion they fell into. Attentively he listened to the witch explaining his family history, nodded along in understanding. “There’s simplicity to being mundane. Oblivion?” Finding the right words was hard, but Adam hoped the younger understood what he meant. After all mundane’s knew very little of what was happening around them, not just regarding magic. A demon could wreak havoc right before them and they wouldn’t have a clue. It wasn’t their problem. “And do you?” Want to settle down. It felt natural to bring it up in the flow of the conversation, though he wasn’t going to pry. It was a casual manner that he asked in all while leaning his head in a little to let their lips brush in a brief kiss. Dark eyes had watched those lips far too long now for it to be surprising. Mark in a suit was a hard sight to endure when he had to behave. All the luckier he was that they were disturbed in their little world by the bride herself, looking stunning and rather excited to be pouring a clear liquid into their glasses. “Merci.” The respectful nod was returned, although with a hint of confusion on the shadowhunter’s face as he leaned in to smell the liquid. Moon water? It did look like water indeed but the scent was obvious. A little worried yet curious he wanted Mark take the first sip before following along, though simply nipping as the burning alcohol hit his tongue. Because of the herbs it wasn’t as bad, but Adam knew not to overdo it. He could hold his alcohol but this was something not yet tested. "Now I know why you hold your liquor so well, chéri. Ceci est dangereux.” With an amused chuckle he took another small sip, though leaning over to return the glass to the table afterwards, mostly because the music picked up speed and he swung in to twirl his lover against his chest, now pressed to Mark’s back.

Adam closed in on a kiss before Mark could answer with more than a slight stutter, and when they pulled apart, he was still searching for the right words. In many ways, he had already settled down; gone were the days of fucking around with temporary flames, of taking bold-faced risks for the sake of experience. Of taking rich and poor clients all-night, exchanging the use of his power for money and whatever else piqued his interest. As wreckless as he still could be, Mark cared deeply about Adam’s standing within the Clave and took great care in Paris to lie low with his craft, a balance he wrestled with every day. If it were anybody else, he would never have left the States. He let in a small breath, steadying his speech and returning that gaze that never failed to let him know he was wanted. “I do.” 

“I’ve never known exactly how to make it, I only ever drink it when I’m home.” He appreciated that Adam was taking it slow for the sake of the company they were around, but this was Mark’s last real chance to party before tomorrow was completely dedicated to making sure his friends had a special, sacred ceremony. He downed the rest of the flute and let it rest on the table next to Adam’s, already giggling as the older pressed into him. 

Hours later, Mark was all danced out, still laughing and clinging to Adam for support as they spilled out of the reception hall with the rest of the guests. They were almost back to the car when that mischievous glint returned to Mark’s eyes. He broke off from Adam’s hold and grabbed his hand, clumsily leading him out of the parking lot and into the woods behind the large estate without warning, or a word about where they were going. Once the trees started to open into a clearing and they too far away from the estate to be heard or seen, Mark dropped the hand like it was nothing and started looking for a sturdy-enough stick to leave marks in the ground with. Settling for the dead branch of a nearby tree, he dragged out a circle that looked much more like an oval, and stood in what he assumed would be the center. “Y’wanna know ‘bout Vincent? Come here.” The words came out more slurred than usual, but his tone was direct.

"Is this you telling me I've got it?" Mark cast a playful look back to the warlock as he kicked off his shoes onto the grass and pulled his sweat-stained shirt over his head. Sparring and wrestling with Cyrus provided a healthy challenge he hadn't had in a long time, and he was grateful to spend a little more time with the warlock before life and business inevitably called one of them off to work.