Abandon Ship!--Island--Jon, Marcus, Bryant, Rob (Open!)
It was a lucky thing that Bryant had been wearing the leg. Adrenaline could have seen to it that Marcus had been able to support the older man to the lifeboat, but that would have gotten old for them both real fucking fast. The chair, of course, was going down with the fucking ship. He had a hand in the older man's hair, not intentionally to make it seem like the other man was a dog sitting at heel. Fingers rested in the russet strands, himself a swarthy sentinel, keeping watch over the wreckage. Smoke on the fucking water. The fingers tensed as Jon approached, uncertainty twitching through the muscles. Part of him wanted to run off to see if he could be of use to the wounded, despite the lack of light. Part of him wanted to swim for the boat, looking for survivors to pull back to sure. They were small parts, however, outweighed and outvoted by the impulse to stay put, stand guard over his lover. It was better than falling to pieces over the fact that somehow this had happened in the first place. That he'd allowed Bryant to get on the fucking boat, and that it seemed like they'd already beaten the odds just by making it off.
What if Bryant had taken that damn walk? What if Marcus had been off dancing, instead of lying naked on the bed? What if he'd stopped a moment too long or taken the wrong path up to the lifeboat deck? What if, what if, what if...
There was another part of him that wanted to punch Rob York in the face, but he knew that wasn't exactly fair. Although York was making a great show of stoicism, for some reason rifling through his goddamn briefcase just eight feet away from where they stood, Marcus was certain that the other man was more upset by this than he was.
After all, Marcus hadn't lost anyone on the boat. Material goods, sure, but the important thing was sitting on the fucking bathrobe at his feet, stuttering and catching his breath. Rob, on the other hand, was frantically tracking down all the women of the party, which was easier said than done in the dark.
"Got one or two bitches missing from our group," Marcus informed Jon after Bryant spoke, fingers drawn back in encouraging paths through the hair. Good boy. A concerned frown in the darkness towards the briefcase-searching Rob, who was ignoring them all, clearly on another planet. One where briefcases apparently held solutions to sinking ships. "He's been better."