ONESHOTS - Markicest, Darkstache, & More

Killshot - Markicest - Mafia AU

This was one of my warm-ups before writing Strangulate, so it may be a bit confusing! Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy! <3

MAFIA AU ; Mob Boss! Dark x Mark

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Anti's hand tightened over Mark's shoulder.

"He's watching you," he said in his ear.

Mark took a deep breath, and he leaned back in his seat, letting the primal beat of the music thrum through his body. Lights flashed across Anti's face, and Mark looked up at him carefully.

They shared a glance.

Anti's hand slid from his shoulder, and he disappeared into a crowd of dancing bodies.

Mark carefully lifted his glass and draped an arm over his seat, looking around the club with his eyes. He didn't turn his head—careful not to reveal himself. His eyes passed over swaying bodies, laughing friends, kissing couples... then, in the darkest part of the bar, where the lights rarely reached, was him.

Damien "Dark" Edwards. Mafia boss. Cold-blooded killer. And...

Mark stared at him through the corner of his eye, watching him.

His ex.

A red light slid over the club and onto Dark's body, revealing his expression for a second. Hard-set brows, half-lidded eyes, and that deep frown. His eyes glittered red, and he laced his fingers together over his table, glaring over them.

The light slid back away.

Mark took another deep breath and lowered his glass, his hand lingering on it. It was cold to the touch—damp from condensation. It didn't do anything to calm the heat rising in his body. Dark's stare felt like molten lava, burning through his skin.

He clutched the glass as his heart began to race. All he had to do was lure him over... lead him to the designated location...

The music shifted into a heavier bass that rattled the glasses on the tables; a menacing, crooning tone. Mark swallowed, his breaths going faster.

He spared another sideways glance at Dark.

He still sat there, legs crossed and hands laced before his face, his posture impeccable. A black trench hugged the sharps and angles of his figure.

God, Mark didn't know whether to be intimidated or—dare he admit—aroused. He had always enjoyed that domineering, calculated stare—had always enjoyed the sadism in what he did for a living—but now that he wasn't with him anymore... and after what he'd done. . . that stare began to feel like a killer's gaze.

The music kicked up a notch, and Mark brought the glass up to his lips, his breath clouding its insides. His fingers tightened, subtly trembling.

Dammit, thought Mark, closing his eyes and swallowing. This was harder than he thought.

Mark tipped his head back and downed the rest of his drink, wishing it was alcoholic. He needed that burn down his throat and that heat in his belly, in his blood.

He needed something to distract him from Dark's merciless gaze.

But he had to follow through.

He set down his glass, stood up, and looked over at Dark.

Their eyes met.

They lingered there—Mark standing and Dark sitting—the music fading to a dull, echoing pulse around them. The red lights slid back over Dark's figure again, and his eyes glittered and narrowed, features electrifying. He planted his hands on the table and stood up.