Something, something Ryland Graces choice of refusing to go to space being disrespected and him instead being drugged and put on a spaceship against his will feels so female to me.
He's refered to by his last name Grace. He's a loser. He's a coward. He's socially awkward. He's insanely clever. He's has a PHD. He's second in command and doesn't know it. His boss is a woman, who is insanely powerful, his coworkers think he slept his way to the top. He doesn't understand his own capability and relevance. The fact that he is not in a relationship, is single. Things don't come easy to him. He's not a good driver/doesnt own a car. He doesn't magically know how everything works on Mary.
He's a hero but he's also not – men aren't often allowed characteristics like these in fiction. He's not capable the way a movie hero in space usually is.
Pretty Boy Detective | A Collection of Short Stories
SUMMARY: Risking your life when dying is easy. Now Mark Meachum needs to face being hurt when living.
In addition to his medical treatment, Mark's Neuro-Oncologist recommends sessions with a therapist. Dr. Bonard asks him to breach the borders of his isolation, but switching his Modus Operandi from Dying to Healing asks him to uproot some of his beliefs.
„I haven’t really slowed down myself.“ Meachum said.
„What does that mean?“
„You know. Just– … when you face death like that, you wanna do all the living you can.“ He grinned. „And I mean all of it. With whoever you can – … with more than one whoever.“
„Gross.“ Oliveras rolled her eyes.
PAIRINGS: Mark Meachum (Countdown)/Original Male Character
TAGS: Bisexual Mark Meachum, Submissive Mark Meachum, Bottom Mark Meachum, First Time Bottoming, Rimming
(other warnings are canon-compliant)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
A Shooting Range Of Emotions
Pretty Boy Detective | A Collection of Short Stories
One, two, three, four, five hits. Target practice always calmed his mind. After all, he had once been Highest Ranking Marksman at the U.S. Airborne Rangers. Now he was a shadow of himself, working to be a tangible man. Since he had started treatment his migraines were getting better, so he was picking up speed in his training.
"Woah… You doin' this professionally?" The safety assistant asked him astounded.
"Something like that," Mark Meachum replied. "... work in law enforcement."
"Why aren't you training at work then?"
"I need to get some extra training in."
"Injured in action?"
How the fuck did that guy make the connection of extra training to injury. Dangerously perceptive. "Nah."
"Then what?"
"Ran head first into a door," Mark sassed.
"Yeah? You seem like someone who would do that," he matched.
Mark rolled his eyes. "I lost some of my precision as a shot because of an… injury. Now I need to work myself back to my former glory. So– Can I keep going or are you going to keep bothering me, nerd?" Mark didn't even bother to face the guy – eyes on the target.
"Alright. I will let you train, if… you give me your number."
"My– …what?"
"We could go out sometime," Todd suggested.
Mark lowered his gun hand as he turned to face him. "I'm not… uh-."
"We could talk. Think we might have some things in common," He explained. "I fucked up my hands, years ago, on a tour in Afghanistan. I swore off any more deployments but I couldn't keep my hands off guns for long." He showed the back of his hands. Now Mark was really looking. The hands were gnarly with scar tissue and Mark recognized the characteristic callouses of a gunman from his own hands.
"Understandable."
"So… how about it? I'll show you some of my tricks and you'll show me some of yours?"
Do not isolate yourself, Dr Bonard had asked of him. For fuck's sake. He wasn’t going to tell her next session, that he chose isolation over an opportunity like this one. Maybe the guy was flirting and yeah, maybe he was expecting this to be a date. But that didn’t mean Mark had to do anything. No one could ever make him do anything. They could just talk. Mark didn’t get the chance to find someone who might actually be able to understand him particulary often.
The man was close to his height. Male. Roughly Mark's age. White. Dark hair, brown eyes. Same height. Similar build. Black hoodie and jeans.
"Whats your name?" Mark asked.
"I'm Todd. You?"
"Name's Mark."
"Wanna go for a beer, Mark?"
5-4-3-2-1
They go for a beer.
Mark hates bars in L.A, Californians will try to make even drinking healthy. They offer spiked smoothies and when Mark asks for two beers he gets a confused look. But he also gets the two beers, so he’s not going to cause a scene.
There are some dartboards on the walls – some conversations are easier just when you’re holding a dart arrow.
"Alright. Here we are. Show me some of your tricks." Mark said and handed Todd an arrow. He crossed his arms over his leather jacket. "If you hit bullseye, I'm buying the next round."
Todd threw the dart. "Dude, you suck," Mark sassed. "Twenty-one points for you, now it's my turn."
They played and played. Mark was winning of course. Anyone was at an unfair advantage playing against him. Mark hit bullseye on his first try. "Maybe I should make a career out of this. What do you say?"
"Fuck off."
"You can't take my crown. I'm king."
"Keep the crown, princess. Looks good on you," Todd scoffed.
"Winning the game but losing this conversation."
"Thats really not how conversations work," Todd said, "… but yes."
A group of Angelinos was taking turns at the dart wheel next to theirs. No amount of alcohol could excuse their pathetic attempts at hitting the target.
Mark snarled, "Civilians."
"Oh, yeah. Apropos civilians, at the range you said you used to be at the Airborne Rangers. What about now?"
"Law enforcement, Special Task Force."
"Oof. Hawt." Todd said. "And what is this task you're so desperately forcing?"
"Confidential," Mark said. "is what it is." His expression darkened.
This was the problem with people. Mark Meachum was always going to have to keep quiet about his job. Doctor Bonard never seemed to understand how much his job defined him. Or maybe she thought that was another problem. Well, he was going to complete his task missions. Anything is important than meditating to whale songs. Being good at his job wasn’t optional.
"Not a good night story then, huh? I guess that’s alright. I can think of some distracting things to do."
"Do you ever shut up? Do you ever stop flirting?"
"Uh- Not when you look like this," Todd replied.
"Listen, I'm not into men. I'm here because my therapist bullies me into talking to people. If I refused to make a new friend, I would've probably never heard the end of it."
"… bullying. Is that some new PTSD treatment? Is It working? Maybe I should give it a try," Todd mocked him, then more serious. "I'm okay if we just hang out, stud."
Mark rolled his eyes. "And you? Afghanistan?"
"Yup." Todd threw a dart. Double ring, field eight – sixteen points. "It was messy. Everyone took some scratches home. Wasn't even supposed to be in on the action that day."
"But?"
"There is no safe haven in a war zone. It’s all chaos – anarchy everywhere and all the time."
"Gotcha. Sucks."
"Balls."
"Gimme another dart," he asked.
"When I'm not at the range I run to clear my head. Helps sometimes."
"Outside? For fun? Thats odd, Todd."
"Oh, you’re hilarious."
"Odd-Todd. That's your nickname now."
"Great."
Todd had offered bits, now it was Mark‘s turn. He wouldn't even have to go in depth. "I had a fiancée once. Some things happened. I made sure to ruin it two weeks before the wedding."
"Oh-I’m sorry. You made sure?"
"Uh-huh."
"I have questions!"
"So does my therapist."
5-4-3-2-1
Later– when Todd kissed him– he realized that, for the first time Mark didn‘t have to crane his neck down.
"All the women I dated were much smaller than me."
"I mean, you are a tall guy."
"Yeah– so are you."
Todd's hand cradled his neck, reaached around his throat. He could feel the scars and the callouses. It felt more familar and safe than it probably should have. Mark closed his eyes, while Todd kissed his neck, and laid back against the pillows.
"I really wanna get you off."
"Don’t hurt your hands, Todd." Mark's voice was low and quiet.
"Oh, don’t worry. I have much better ideas." Todd smiled. "You ever eat a girl out?"
"Sure."
"Anybody ever eat you out?"
"No."
"Since I’m taking your gay virginity, I was thinking I could rim you. All the fun, none of the pain. Interested?"
Mark was warm and comfy. He had a good session at the range and now he was here. There was nothing stopping him, he was allowed– this was allowed. And he was curious enough to try.
"Sure."
"Turn around, pretty boy." Mark rolled over and slung his arms around pillow.
Todd's hands on his inner thighs. Sensitive. Ticklish. "That's– uh…"
"Are you getting shy?"
"Fuck you! I've never been in this position."
"Wanna lie on your back instead? Too scary like this?" Todd asked, he sounded kind. It was ridiculous.
"No, it's– I'm good."
"Okay," Todd whispered in his hair. "I'm going to kiss my way down. Where should I start, pretty boy?"
"Are you going to make me say everything?"
"Yes. This is new for you and I want you to feel good. Where am I kissing next?"
"Neck," Mark said. His body pressed against his back. Todd kissed and bit and sucked.
Mark was writhing against the mattress. He was so fucking hard. "Shoulder." Todd licked and– "Spine."
Then, "Further down."
Then, "Further."
Todd's tongue was warm.
Mark felt fuzzy-red-hot. "It's so different." He hissed. "Ngh. Fuck, why is that so intense?" He buried his face in his bicep.
Todd held his hips still, fingertips gripping around his hipbones. "You look beautiful."
"Why would y-… You can't even see my face right now, fuckstick."
"I would never say something I don't mean."
"Dude, you said bullying was a professional PTSD treatment just to be funny like an hour ago."
"Oh, like you've never been funny- you told me you weren't interested like an hour ago."
"Startin' to feel like I need an attorney present for our conversations," Mark contemplated.
"You want some suit seeing you like this? Such a freak."
"Shut it. Weren't you in the middle of something?"
"Can't even take matters into your own hands? Such a Pillow Princess."
"Point, Todd."
Soon, Mark was falling apart. "Can't come like this– fuck." He panted, "Need something else- something- more-."
"Take a breath in, I'll take care of you– ... there you go." Mark was awarded with Todd's hands around his dick. He didn't even bother jerking him off properly- was just teasing him. His mouth fell open when he felt Todd's tongue again. When Todd pulled his hips further up against his face, Mark let himself be moved. He was jelly. And when Todd picked up the pace with his hands he was done. His dick jerked against his hipbones.
Todd rolled him over to kiss him slowly. He jerked himself off between Mark’s thighs. Mark moved his lips to his ear- "You made me feel so good ...might need to have this again, rather sooner than later."
"Can't believe I got to have you- like this- fuck-" Todd said. Mark buried his hands in Todd's hair. "Damn, I would love to top you someday. Just thinking about it-" He sighed. "Hm."
can't stop thinking about how absolutely terrible adam is as a cop. and the fact that he presumably spent a number of years being someone else's subordinate. what the fuck do you think that was like for his superiors.
Kein Moment hat mich so zerrissen wie Adams hochziehen der Augenbrauen nach "Upps, Akku leer"- kann mir doch keiner erzählen, dass dieser Typ irgendeine Rechtsgrundlage kennt oder Ernst nimmt
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