Marked
Disclaimer: I own 60 of my own soul, but not this show.
Summary: There are many things you don't want to see first things in the mirror, threats in lipstick, breakup notes, psycho killers, gynecologist reminders… and circular bruises on your neck.
AN: Just a worthless piece of fluff I wrote out of the blue. It's only like four hundred words long.
There are many things you don't want to see first thing in the mirror; threats in lipstick, breakup notes, psycho killers, gynecologist reminders… and circular bruises on your neck. Nothing wakes you up faster than a hickey.
"Daniel Bailey Messer!" You yell utterly appalled at the purple glaring at you via the mirror. You hear him protest your wake up call, he can bitch all he wants he has some explaining to do.
"What'cha wants Montana?" he finally asked you, in your horror you are ignorant to his lack of sleeping attire and thick morning accent. You point to the offending mark.
"What the hell is this?" You ask him. He better say 'an accident' your mind screams.
"A hickey." He tells you plainly, love is the only thing keeping your hands from throttling him.
"Do you know how and why it's there?" you ask him, come on 'accident'.
"I wanted it there." Your eyes fly open, your jaw falls, steam blows out your ears, and your mind starts reconsidering the whole murder idea.
"You wanted it there!" You scream at him. "Hickeys are trashy Danny. What am I going to do?" You turn back to the mirror to examine your affliction better. Damn it's brightly colored. He moves behind you so he can hold your eyes in the mirror.
"What are you going to do? You're not going to put any make up on it. Turtlenecks aren't allowed. You're going to wear that blue shirt and let every one see. Show it off like a necklace." You can't believe him, only trashy girls did that. You shake your head and formulate a list of ways to cover up the glaring purple.
"Not a chance." You tell him.
"Oh yha – there's a chance. I've disposed of your high neck wardrobe options." He's in trouble like none other.
"WHAT?" and then "WHY?"
"You'll understand this, consider this mark," he tilts your head so it can be seen better in the mirror, "my brand, you know that mark of ownership. I want everyone to know you're with me. That they can't have you. That I am the luckiest guy on the planet." He says your rage starts to cool; he always manages to save himself. You sigh – the things you do for love.
"So while I'm parading around this hickey like a high school whore what will you be doing- do you have a tee shirt; 'I gave Montana a hickey and all I got was this lousy shirt'?" You ask him, you still feel trashy.
"No Lindsay, I'm going to be worshiping you, loving you, letting people know I am worthy and deserving of you." The look in his eyes makes you melt; he always has done that to you. But God do you love it. You love this man more than anything else in the world or space. All murderous thoughts fly from your mind; you even entertain the idea of a low cut blouse. Suddenly your hickey doesn't feel like a giant neon sigh blinking 'Trash' or 'Skank'. You turn in his arms and draw him near. Before you take your shower you return his little favor…
Fin.