Feel you under my skin
A/n
It is quite interesting to note that the age difference between Layla and Marc is a hefty 7 years. This means that she was quite young when they both got married. As a feminist, I don't like it when people are objectified, but as a slut for Oscar Issac, I just wanted to write some filthy porn involving him lol. While most of the fandom has decided that Marc is a Dom, I just wanted to write Marc and Layla being real newlyweds, not being able to keep their hands off each other.
Also, I think Marc was probably in denial of his DID for a good while before he realized that it was something he needs to deal with. This was also written pre-episode 4, so this will mostly ignore the canon feelings and angst around the history of Marc and Layla. Or Marc's abuse. This is just some quality porn, y'all.
Marc disassociates in the middle of the act a teenyyyy tiny little bit, not much but I wanna mention it still. This is legit so sweet and I just get dark thoughts of torturing Marc even further lol. Also weird as hell that I scarred Marc's back. Honestly, this came out with so much more fluff than I imagined, I still managed to slip some angst into all this fluff, like salt in a cake. Look forward to even more angsty chapters!
Sometimes Marc honestly couldn't tell when he was dreaming and when he was actually living. He had read in an article that the feeling of looking at your life as if you were looking from the outside was one of the most typical presentations of disassociation. He still didn't know when or why it happened. Why he shifted. Why his system collapsed so suddenly and so often and he had to blink away time and memories that weren't his. He hoped whoever came out the other end was having a good time, that was all.
Marc wasn't sure if he was dreaming, about to be pranked, or just enjoying the mother of all lucky streaks, but he absolutely was not questioning it. Right now, he had a lot more important things to focus on, and he wasn't going to let the opportunity slip from his grasp just because he refused to accept his own good fortune. He was, incredulous as it was to even think it, married to Layla. But more than that, it was going wonderfully.
They had been gallivanting across Europe, pretending that it had to do with work, but actually going on an honest-to-goodness honeymoon.
It had been two weeks of walking around the streets of Italy. Positano looked like a perfect postcard, with the art inspiring Layla at every turn, so much so that she'd bought an easel and finally picked up a paintbrush after years. She'd gotten inspired by the breathtaking views, and had spent days painting the scenery from their rented villa. Marc had had to bribe her away with the promise of delicious food and sex.
They'd spent days languidly moving together on expensive cotton sheets they'd bought from Cairo, with Marc trying to be as gentle as he could with her.
Layla had always made him feel safe. He'd just wanted to return the sentiment tenfold. He's gentle with her, taking ages to get her ready. The first time he sinks into her tight heat post their wedding, she feels so hot that he thinks that he'd died. And this was some kind of pseudo-Heaven, where he got to play the greatest hits before he was carted off to the underworld.
Here they were now, the day before her birthday when she'd finally had enough of him going gentle. She collapses down onto him, one hand cupping his chest and the other pressed into the pillow behind his head. She moves freely, grinding down into his fingers. He goes to roll them over, but Layla's firm hand stops it.
"I think you're okay there," she muses.
Marc raises a brow; she's not usually one to take control, but he's not complaining.
She presses down into his lap, teasing him as he grows wet against her inner thigh. She grabs the Magen David necklace, yanking him in. "Ready?"
"Oh, my god—"
He would have never in his wildest dreams (Maybe this was a wild, alcohol or Khonshu induced dream?) imagined that Layla would be so comfortable taking control, and he, for the first time in his life, revels in the feeling of floating away from control. She pulls Marc's hands from her and pins them above his head on the bed, and crawls onto him, placing both her legs around his own, using gravity to make up for the lack of height and strength on her end.
"How's this?" She asks, which is silly since she couldn't do any wrong right now. He nods, trying to communicate but it's hard, as he was not necessarily used to being put in such a position.
"And you want me to keep going?"
He feels like it's the end of the world. It's the end of the world, and the two (all) of them are the only people left alive. He looks into her eyes from below, shining like black-brown gems.
Takes in all her glory, haloed by the setting sun peering through the window, the glowing face surrounded by springy curls and the smell of sweat at exerting herself. She is all Marc knows at this moment.
"Yes, YES. yes-ye."
With nothing but a proud giggle, Layla places herself back on top and lines herself up, happily doing all the work and setting her own pace.
Marc has to go against all his instincts to use his skills and strength to not buck her off him in an effort to speed up the process. Layla takes her own sweet time, her moans getting louder and louder, ricocheting off the walls like a song of pleasure. Only after she'd driven herself off the edge twice had she finally arched her back, taking him in even deeper, singing his name as if that was the only word she knew how to spell.
"Marc - Marc, Marc"
He finally gives in and grinds into her from below, feeling the sticky aftermath of their coupling spread on both of them, making him squirm underneath her; his senses overwhelmed and overshot.
They spend the rest of the night cuddling with each other, with Layla gently playing with his curls that were sticking to his sweaty head.
Here's the thing - he knows himself more than he sometimes gives himself credit for. He knew that it was probably all going to come to a head one fine day. He knows what it feels like when he does something that'll drop the other shoe. He knows that tug in his gut that tells him when something is a bad idea, and surprisingly, he's not feeling it.
And of course, her birthday is when everything changes. Again.
The restaurant that he'd initially reserved had gotten shut down because of a flood in the kitchen (he couldn't even make this shit up, man!), and the restaurant that they'd picked out next was vegan (Seriously? Why would anyone be a vegan in a country like this?) with the 'fish' tasting like rubber and bread tasting like actual hay.
He'd hemmed and hawed at her play-acting of enjoying the food, biting into the rubbery salmon like it was melting in her mouth, talking about how it was the 'perfect' birthday gift she could have ever gotten.
"Well, I wouldn't know what's the perfect gift for my perfect wife" teased Marc, as they left the bustling restaurant after the unsatisfactory meal. Layla giggles at her husband's frankly, cute attempts at entertaining her on her birthday. "Well, I now know what I want for my birthday,"she said, breathily.
Marc pauses at the sudden change in Layla's tone and looks down at her eyes, sparkling with an energy that makes his spine straighten and lips part in anticipation.
"I want you, my doting husband to get on your knees and take my cock and beg me to come prettily"
Marc takes a short, deep breath and wonders if it really is happening in real life after all.
It wasn't like he hadn't seen a dildo before. Layla had a lot of toys (many more than he ever thought she'd have, but that wasn't saying much).
He had known what a strap-on was for years. He'd even had other women wear it for him in bed.
His idea of sexuality and pleasure was always fluid and shaped differently. In the right mood, he was ready to try practically anything.
And Layla had asked him before if he would be interested in, well, this.
On her birthday. The day after she'd so thoroughly claimed him in a way he never thought anyone on this Earth ever could.
Sex was something he could handle, but submission?
Submission was about intimacy and vulnerability. Two things he had generally never been good at. This would be different. A different way to be intimate. A different way to be vulnerable.
He looked at her darkening eyes and knew that there was no one else in the world who could shake him so much to the core.
"Do you want to try it right now?" he asked, hating how his voice was different than usual, hating how his voice shivered at all the wrong places.
Layla saw it. Of course. She saw everything.
She runs her warm hand from the top of his shoulder slowly, letting her care and concern reach him without using any words. Exactly what he needed.
Her voice is carefully laced with the perfect amount of lust and eagerness as she responds
"I wouldn't want to do anything that you don't actually want to, but we could try tonight? If you want?" pressing her closed lips on top of his clothed shoulder, feeling like a searing brand.
Marc couldn't stop staring at her dildo.
It had fit against her harness snugly, and honestly, the size of the thing seemed manageable at the least, making him wonder if someone in real life might find that size to be small or less than satisfactory.
More than anything, her obvious comfort and joy at his discomfort made him squirm like someone was trying to make him jump out of his skin.
Layla is wearing one of those 'baby doll' tops, the black lace complimenting her skin and dark bobbing curls in a way that makes her look ethereal and makes him swallow his own breath deeply.
This was the first time he showered beforehand, carefully cleaning himself up thoroughly, with an uncertainty that he was leaving himself exposed to her. Nothing was truly his anymore, not even the most secret parts of his body.
"You still interested?" Layla asked. Marc could have given her so many different answers, each one sounding more ridiculous than the last, but he simply grounded his feet under his body and nodded.
She patiently waited for him to say - "Yeah, I'm still interested". He didn't even understand where his nerves were coming from.
"Good," she smiled, her enthusiasm and arousal going a long way to making him get back to the feeling of - this was supposed to be fun.
She looked at him. Positioned herself with her head held high, making her chest rise and her breasts move enticingly with her position.
"I think you should get over here and sit on the bed" she whispered her tone teasing but in a waspish and wholesale way.
"Oh," he realized, "-right,"
Layla giggled at him already falling into the headspace. He came to sit on the bed.
"You should probably take your towel off now too," she said, her gaze dropping from his face to his lips, and finally to his groin, where, much as he might like to say that the nerves were affecting him, as he removed his towel, he saw that his cock was standing at attention as ever.
She walked towards him with all the lithe movement of a jaguar, carelessly raising a hand to cup his jaw, leaning in for a kiss, her eyes fluttering closed with the contact. He could taste her in the kiss, and the contact soon made him feel wanton and strung up, making his lips tingle and his greed heighten, as he slowly forgot what he was supposed to be doing, and kept kissing her deeply, her tongue slipping in and out his mouth and making him feel hot and cold at the same time.
Layla finally moaned and shoved him back into the bed, rubbing both their thighs together tantalisingly. Her laced thighs made him feel more sensitive than ever.
She ran her hand through his matted curls, peppering his face and bare shoulders with barely-there kisses, making sure that the last of his nerves were quelled and that he was putty in her capable hands.
He squinted up at her, rolling his hips into hers, moaning softly at the contact through her rapidly soaking panties. She pants and breathes through her mouth and finally grabs his hips and bends down and bites his lower lip and bruises it; continues biting his shoulders, mumbling into his heating skin "You want to prepare yourself or do you want me to do it?"
He had to take a deep breath and think about it. On the one hand, he probably better knew how fingering worked on someone else, as he'd done it to Layla (and most of his former lovers as well) but he hadn't really done it to himself that often; actually he'd only done it for himself a few times. On the other hand, he wasn't sure he was ready to give over that kind of control quite yet. He knew that that wasn't exactly rational thinking, she was planning to put a toy inside of him soon, but sue him, he wanted to prepare himself for it.
"I want to do it," Marc decided.
she shuffled off him and started rummaging in the nightstand for the lube.
"Alright, I think it'll be easiest if I get off you and you stay on your side,"
"Okay," Marc slinked further up the bed, trying to not feel (and honestly look) ridiculous.
"How much ever lube you think is enough, add more", Layla said, grabbing the bottle for him as he settled on his side, facing her with both of his knees bent and his arm still propping his torso up. She popped the lid and he held out his hand, letting the cold fluid pool in his cupped hand and fingers.
The first finger didn't sting until he got to the second knuckle. He bit his lip, it was strange. Not unpleasant though.
"Does it hurt?" Layla whispered, brow furrowed in concern.
"No, it's just weird," he huffed, feeling put on the spot and pinned down under her gaze, wondering if he should have just let her do this, instead of the awkward position that he'd put himself in.
Layla came even closer to him, murmuring soft platitudes while he added an obscene amount of lube and a second finger to the one already moving inside his body, scissoring them and stretching him open, getting him wet and sloppy.
"Just one more, and then you'll be ready to take me", she murmured, her voice regaining that warmth and dominance he was never going to forget.
The strap-on was very apparent from this angle, he quickly noticed. He felt the plastic against his thigh, and he wasn't sure how much bigger it would feel than his fingers. Though he was certain that it was bigger.
Marc was starting to feel a bit fuzzy around the edges of his consciousness; it felt like he was floating. He grits his teeth and bit his lips, trying to ground himself back into reality, as he feels more than he hears Layla panting into his ears, more careful with how she held her hips and pressed her nose against his own, an act that felt wildly out of place in the headspace he was in.
"Does that feel good?" Layla asked, voice like a hum, leaning down, marking his shoulders up with more visible, more pleasant bite marks.
"Yeah," he panted. The biting was helping. It made him feel in the current moment, and he was finally feeling loose and spread in a way that made him feel like he'd be okay with a plastic thing in his ass replacing his fingers.
He figured that three fingers were probably enough (and no, he wasn't going to ask his newlywed if he should prepare himself some more).
"How should we-?" He asked looking to his wife for guidance, pulling his fingers out carefully, "I think I'm ready,"
"I want you to be on all fours," Layla suggested, rolling a condom onto the false phallus between her legs.
"Oh," and suddenly the unfamiliarity was nerve-wracking again. Suddenly this sort of vulnerability seemed so much more uncomfortable.
"Hey, you okay?" she asked, her voice laced with nothing but quiet concern and love.
He didn't know what to say. On the one hand, he wanted to reply tersely, with all his gusto and training. After all, he'd faced much worse. But on the other hand, this was supposed to be a night of pleasure, and she'd asked him to trust her, and that had come naturally to him anyway. And, more importantly than any of that, she was an excellent reader of his mind and his body, and she'd find out that he was not okay, and he wasn't going to ruin her birthday any further.
Just as Layla inhaled to prepare herself to say something else, probably how they could just end this right here, he grits out a flustering but obvious truth "I want to see you," he admits. She smiled, and he was glad that he could do that, give her a reason to smile.
"I want that too, but since this is your first time, it might get a bit painful on your back, and I just want this to go smoothly for you," Marc's eyebrows wiggle strangely with all the implications that sentence had.
Anyway, if there was one thing Marc was good at, it was diving headfirst into things that scared the hell out of him.
He takes a deep, centring breath like how they taught him to take before any kind of combat, and carefully gets control of his legs and rolls himself onto all fours, trying like hell not to get embarrassed about the fact that his beautiful wife was going to see his naked and scarred-to-all-hell back.
He didn't have to worry. He could hear Layla smile from behind, as she leaned forward, kissing him in the centre of his shoulder blades, running both her hands from the tips of his shoulders, down to his hips, to his tightened thighs, and the balls of his feet.
She gently started tickling him and he couldn't help but squirm and guffaw at how she knew exactly when to shift the mood of the room, trying desperately to not buck her off the bed with her teasing touch and shenanigans.
She finally shifts herself back into position, and he drops his head down to his neck, as he heard the lube being opened yet again (seriously how much of the stuff did they need?) and he hears her take a deep breath and grab his head gently and makes him crane his neck back into position.
"Ready?" she asks, making him look behind himself and see her brilliant smile.
"Yeah," he answered. Then Layla's hands moved to his hips, where they grabbed him gently, and he was almost tempted to tell her to stop being so gentle with him, but before he could do that, he felt the toy getting pressed into him slowly.
And Marc had to grab the expensive cotton sheets below him hard; it was obviously different from his fingers. The shape of it and the stretch were different. Discomfort bordering on mild pain. Layla notices, and she stills for a moment.
"You need to not bunch up your muscles so tightly, Marc," she admonishes, "breathe,"
And Marc let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding, and what do you know, he immediately felt much better in the position.
"You're doing so well," she hummed, gently massaging her grip against his hips.
He still hissed a little as she pressed more in.
"You look so good,"
"I doubt that," Marc said, not really understanding what the appeal of seeing him in this position could possibly be. He was starting to sweat, and he knew that his back was as unappealing as his past was, a reminder of everything that he'd ever done and deserved. And, oh, while he was bracing himself on all fours, a dildo is being slowly pushed into his ass. He did not feel particularly attractive at that moment.
"Well, I think you look so handsome, and you're doing exactly what I wanted - being my doting husband, she pushed in deeper still, making him gasp even loudly, on your knees and taking my cock so prettily" Layla replied, getting better and better at rendering him speechless.
Marc felt his face turn red. This too was a new sort of intimacy. He wasn't sure if the dirty talk had ever worked on him before.
Layla rubs little circles with her grip on his hip as she finally seats herself fully inside of him, and he moans as it just barely hits what he assumes to be his prostate.
It felt like he was being electrocuted from the inside, and Layla slows down again, letting her fingers stay tantalising around his hips, his inner thighs, never touching him where he wanted, where he needed, but close enough that it made him feel teased and warm all over.
They stay there for a moment, and before it can get awkward, he says,
"You can move it now," he said, getting used to the sensation of fullness.
Layla hummed contemplatively at that, "let your hips drop a bit more". She pushed down on his hips, making him change the angle a little bit.
"I'm going to push it back in deeper now," Layla warned him and he nodded. The new angle seemed to do the trick perfectly (and how did she know all this so precisely?), and the difference was immediately noticeable, as he felt the toy press up against his prostate.
Marc found himself keening audibly at the movement, the sound coming unbridled out of him, making his toes tingle with the effect.
"You can- faster," he panted, feeling his toes start to curl.
She huffed satisfactorily, answering his request by rocking into him harder, gripping his hips hard enough to make him realise that he was probably going to be bruised by the end of the day.
He wished he could see her more than anything; he closed his eyes, imagining her thrusting into him with such quiet dominance, the black satiny lace of her top making her look beauteous.
"Maybe we should invest in a mirror-" He mumbled, surprising himself with his own filthy thoughts.
Layla laughed, and he could feel her moving in deeper still "Is that it? You wanna see how you look like getting fucked by your wife", wrecking him even more, pushing him to the edge.
Marc bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood, but it still didn't stop him from admitting "As I said, I wish I could see you right now," he heard Layla moan loudly above him, a sound that felt like it was being pushed out of her solar plexus, and he could feel her desire burn through to him, making her thrust deeper and deeper, forgetting for a moment that this was his first time, chasing her own pleasure with no reluctance or shame.
"I wish I could see you too - I wish I could kiss you, hold you," Layla moaned wistfully, and it pulls at his heart, and he feels her right hand finally free itself from his hips and move to the nape of his neck, where she gives him a tiny squeeze, continuing to fill his ears with more filth like he would have never expected from her before today. "I am gonna fuck you so hard, make you tremble against me, make you feel like you don't exist anywhere else but here, and I'm gonna make you fall apart against my arms,"
He could feel her words filling him in a way no toy could ever, making him feel more sensitive to any and all sensation. He could feel everything. He felt every bite she'd given him, every tight grip on his hip, her fingers on his neck, her breath falling on his body like a blanket. He felt the toy push into his most intimate spot again and again, and it felt like more and more lust was being pushed into his blood, and through his veins to his poor, neglected cock.
His erection was practically screaming for attention, unable to get any real friction as it is pushed with his hips through the air by the force of his wife's thrusts. He didn't reach for his dick even though he wanted to. Inexplicably, he remembered her words about how -
He whispers her name like a prayer "Layla-"; she makes a very coarse grunt at being distracted, but he could feel the pleasure building up so well and intensely, and he knew that she'd love what he was about to do, and he wanted to make her feel more.
"Layla, I'm getting there", he warned, clenching his fingers hard enough to whiten his knuckles, making sure that they wouldn't reach for his aching dick, how much ever he wanted to.
Layla slowed down immediately, making him whine woefully.
Marc admonished her, shaking with barely pent up lust "are you really slowing down right now,?"
She suddenly gives him another hard thrust and he groans, obscenely, finally losing the fight of keeping himself upright for so long, and he goes to bury his face in the sheets, but he feels her hand move up to his hair and tighten, firm but not painfully. Just as he liked it.
He can feel her shaking with giggly laughter "You're forgetting the magic word,"
Marc winces at her words and bruises his lips further "Layla-" he can feel the pleasure building up so well and so intensely in his groin, and the near burning sensation of needing to touch himself. Of needing to release.
"If you want to touch yourself, you have to say the magic word," Layla instructed,"don't you wanna feel good? " she continued.
"I do," he grunted, "-wanna feel good," he said, between half pants half moans, trying to shift his weight and find a better position.
Layla tisked at that and gripped his hair more. This time, it hurt.
"I'm not gonna ask you again, Marc," her voice laced with fervour, and he decided that he didn't want to find out what would happen if she had to ask him a fourth time.
He bruises his lips further and lets his eyes drop a little as he feels himself redden even further and says, very softly and quietly "... Please. Let me…"
Layla finally lets the grip on his hair go soft, and she hums a very pleasant and sweet sound. she finally says "Touch yourself for me,"
Marc finally lets his head drop and he can hear a crack as his bones show their displeasure for being locked in the same place (no one was getting any younger after all). She urges him to brace himself on one forearm, and he can finally reach out from beneath himself.
The angle is even more awkward than before, she is still inside of him, hitting and rubbing against his prostate harder than ever, but that helps him too.
She doesn't make him use any more words, just lets him wrap his fingers around his swollen cock and gives himself long, firm strokes while she snaps her hips up into him.
When he comes, he makes a broken-sounding noise, muscles clenching and curling him away from her.
She doesn't let up. She keeps her promise of making him tremble against her as she keeps rocking into him, none too gently, fucking him like that through her own orgasm, groaning and bending down to bite him on the centre of his back, hard enough that he feels the skin break. She finally lets herself collapse into him, putting her entire weight on top of him.
He let himself fall bonelessly on the bed, collapsing into the mess he made of the sheets, and she finally slides out of him carefully.
She lets him cool down, even as she starts wordlessly urging him to move away so that she can remove the dirty sheet from beneath him. He can hear her take off her harness and toy, can hear them gentle thud onto the dirtied blankets that she's dumping unceremoniously on the floor.
She finally climbs over on the soft, albeit sheetless mattress, arranging herself to lie facing next to him. Layla runs a fond hand over Marc's back and ass and as she does, he has to ask her gently "Good birthday?"
Layla's face turns resplendent and she nods, yawning a little as she says "Mmmhm, yeah, excellent birthday. Now we just have to plan for tomorrow."
Marc can feel shivers of anticipation run down his spine.
