Work Text:
Marc
You’re going to kill someone. You’re riding the crowded bus, and everyone’s body heat is making the evening’s summer air even more insufferable. The guy next to you won’t stop “accidentally” pressing his body to yours. You have a raging headache, brought on by an awful day at work. Every client seemed to conspire to be on their worst behavior today. They yelled at you for things that weren’t your fault, mistakes your coworkers made that you were doing damage control for, and everything under the sun. Your supervisor is a micromanaging woman, always asking exactly what you were working on as if you weren’t handling the 20 tasks she greeted you with this morning on top of your own work.
The point is, you’re going to kill someone if you don’t make it home right now to your boys. They’re a soothing balm when the world chafes and everything right now is positively irritating.
As soon as you see your stop, you shoulder past the bus creep, resisting the urge to shove him, and basically run to your apartment. You rush inside the dingy building, thanking the moon that the elevator is already on the first floor. “Come on, come on.” You mutter as you obnoxiously smash the “5” button over and over. It doesn’t make the elevator go faster, but it makes you feel better.
The elevator stops and you rush over to the door like someone’s chasing you. You unlock the door and are greeted by the smell of food cooking, and music playing throughout the apartment and you sigh in relief. The garlic and spices greet you home.
“Baby?“ Marc asks from the kitchen.
You smile, headache pounding, but shoved down in priority at the sound of your boyfriend.
Marc is finishing your meal prep, putting a lid on a pot and wiping his hands when he turns into the bear hug you slam into him with. He lets out a startled noise when you push him onto the counter, hugging his waist and pressing your face to his chest. The soft fabric of his shirt soothes your scrunched forehead.
You feel a kiss on the top of your head and Marc’s large hands rubbing circles on your back. “How was work today?”
You groan into his sternum, the urge to strangle someone comes back. You feel Marc’s hands reach down and tug your face upwards. You pout your lips, asking for a kiss. Marc doesn’t give in immediately like Steven would. He doesn’t tease like Jake would. He gives you a small, barely there smile, and brushes his lips against the crease between your brows first. Then he leans down to kiss you, which you immediately melt into. It’s focused and thorough, just like everything Marc does. He tastes you like he has all the time in the world. You can taste the hints of coffee he had this morning. But the anger of the day bleeds into your kiss and Marc can tell. He can tell when you bite him and pull his hair harder than usual. He can tell when you clutch the fabric of his shirt so hard it strains against his chest. He can tell when you kiss back with an aggression that usually is reserved for Jake. He meets you there, breathing harshly against you, chest heaving. You press him against the counter harder, the show of sudden dominance surprising both of you. You only stop when you taste copper.
“That bad?” He asks when he pulls away. The little red corner of his moth is doing something to you, muddling your mind. He smirks and wipes the blood from where you bit him, raising an eyebrow. “Baby?”
You refocus on his question, processing. “I don’t even want to tell you about it because it’s going to make me want to hit something,” you scowl and rest your hands on his chest.
Marc takes a moment to consider, tilting his head to a mirror in the living room. You feel yourself soften, wondering if its Steven or Jake speaking to Marc. Perhaps both.
Marc turns back to you, spinning you around back towards the door. He grabs his jacket from the back of the sofa and his keys. All in a fluid motion, graceful as always.
“Where are we going?” You question as he pulls you out the door and locks the apartment. He tugs a beanie out of his jacket pocket and without thinking about it, places it gently on your head. You soften as he focuses on tucking errant strands inside, concerned with making them look just right.
“My girl had a hard day and I know just where to take her. It’ll be colder where we’re going,” Marc leans in for another bruising kiss that makes your toes curl and turn you breathless. Marc always has to break away first, because if it was for you, you would never stop.
The place Marc ends up taking you is an arcade on Wardour Steet. You light up as soon as you recognize the way. You and Marc tend to be overly competitive, so you don’t come too often. You always end up yelling at the screens and staying well into closing time. He always ends up spending more money than is sensible and smashing buttons so hard you’re scared he’ll break them one day. But when you come it’s always so much fun. Marc makes any game, from pacman to pool, the most high level stakes. He takes it just as seriously as you, as childish as it may be. You knew you could trust him when he sacrificed his life fighting a zombie horde in call of duty for you.
“Mario Kart first?” He asks, holding your hand and giving it a squeeze. You grin, the problems of the day long forgotten when you look at Marc’s sparkling eyes. He sees your inner child, and never chastises you for it. He embraces it.
“What would I be without you?” You lean in for one more kiss to his cheek, a rare blush coloring his tanned skin. “I’m totally going to kick your ass at space invaders later though.”
Marc scoffs, sitting down on the racing chair and choosing Link before you can. You shoot him a scowl when he steals your character. “First worry about not going in reverse on rainbow road again.”
Flustered you with down choosing another character, “that was one time-“
“Let’s raise the stakes, winner gets to top the loser tonight.” Marc wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, pulling a snort from you. As the starting music sounds, you flex your fingers, heart full. You heart is full seeing the neon lights bounce off Marc’s curls, a cocky grin on his face, and love, love, love. All love in his eyes. And if you miss the initial racing boost because you’re too busy loving Marc, well. It’s worth it.
——————
Steven
When Steven comes home from working a rare weekend at the museum, he findsyou swaddled in his sweater on the couch.
“Love?” He closes the door and immediately crosses over to you, offering you a small smile. And that’s all it takes for you to start crying again. You launch yourself at his chest, feeling complete when he wraps his arms around you. “There, there.” He mutters, over and over. He pulls you into his lap, tucking your head under his chin and rocking you both back and forth.
You cry until you get it out, overwhelmed and exhausted. You’d had one of those hard Saturday mornings. It’s been a while, usually kept at bay by your boys’ presence, but you had one of those mornings that made it hard to get out of bed. It was one of those days you felt sad for no particular reason, one of those days you wanted to spend in bed all day. But then a phone call from your mother shot that to shit. You argued, again. You felt inadequate, again. You felt small, again. And you hated it. You were able to stand up to anyone and everything, but her. You hated that she still got to you the way she did. You hated fighting. You’d spend the rest of the late morning overthinking the call. Maybe you shouldn’t have said that. Maybe you should’ve apologized. Maybe you should’ve been the bigger person. Maybe it wasn’t that bad but you made it seem worse in your head.
“Do you want to talk about it, dove?” Steven whispers, squeezing you tighter.
You shake your head. “I argued with my mom.” Steven flinches. He knows of your troubled relationship with her. He understands better than anyone.
You escape the refuge Steven built under his chin and look at him with tear stained cheeks. He offers you a soft smile and wipes the tears that linger away. He presses soft kisses to each eyelid, temple, and cheek. He kisses each corner of your mouth slowly before slowly pressing his lips to yours. You sigh into the kiss, mind quiet for once today.
“Have you been in here all day?” He asks against your lips. You nod. “Well that won’t do. Wash your face and come with me, love”
You’re not the type to be home all day. Much less on the couch or bed all day. You tend to get even more sad when you coop up, but you can’t help it. It’s hard to be pushed, to be pushed up from bed, to be pushed out the door. But not with your boys. With them it’s as easy as breathing. You nod and offer Steven a small smile when you see his eyes widen in worry.
It’s a quiet, but peaceful ride on the bus to wherever Steven is taking you. You sit next to each other as he traces the lines on your palms and whispers to you the more sordid love stories of Cleopatra and Mark Anthony in your ear like a secret. You feel the corner of you lips lift up the entire time, enjoying the cadence of his voice and the soft golden light playing with his eyelashes.
Your heart skips a beat when you realize he brought you to the National Gallery. He fiddles with your fingers nervously as he pulls out his wallet for admission tickets.
“You enjoyed the The Credit Suisse Exhibition for Raphael so much last time we were here. You looked so at peace. I thought it might help?”
Another lump forms in your throat and tears mist your eyes. Last time you came, the pain and love and sadness that Raphael had painted into his subjects touched your soul. Art was to you what Egyptian history was to Steven. He always listened to your rambles with a smile on his face, like there was nothing else he would rather do. To know he had watched you so attentively last time you came, it touched your soul more than any art ever would.
“Thank you,” you choked out.
Steven’s big brown eyes widened again, mouth tilting down. “You don’t need to thank me. You don’t need to say anything at all if you don’t want to. I’m here. On the good days and not so good ones, my love.”
At the risk of sobbing in line while Steven paid you just nodded your head. As you two sat staring at Saint Catherine, you could hear the quiet murmurs of other visitors. You could feel Steven’s thumb brushing back and forth over your knuckles. Even as you said nothing and stared and listened, Steven stayed. He never fidgeted or filled the silence. He sat beside you, content in your presence and in the art you loved. And the quiet wasn’t oppressive and sad like this morning had been. This quiet was full of understanding, of companionship, of love. So you scoot closer and rest your head on Steven’s shoulder, letting out a small sigh. You were going to be okay. You weren’t alone. Even on sad days, you were loved. Even on the hard days you were loved. Even on days you couldn’t love yourself and feel quite like a real person, you were loved. And when Steven squeezes your hand, it's like he’s agreeing with your thoughts. Saint Catherine is the only one that gets to see the first tears of happiness of the day leak from your eyes.
——————
Jake
“Jake please tell me,” you whine from the passenger’s seat. You squirm, restless.
“Now mi amor, that would defeat the purpose of it being a surprise.” He answers and despite wearing one of his ties as a blindfold, you swear you could see the smirk clearly.
You huff and listen to the croon of his music, Selena singing about the cold and love in Spanish. Last night Jake had come home bloody from doing Khonshu’s bidding. You hadn’t slept that night. It was impossible when he was out being Moonknight, no matter how much he told you not to worry. But he was out later than he told you he would be. And even though the healing suit and Khonshu’s power brought him home in one piece, it didn’t take away the darkness in his eyes. It didn't take away his aching bones that cracked when he sat down so you could help him wash. It didn’t remove the dried gashes across his torso and his back, beaten black and blue.
It didn't remove the blood you rinsed from his hair. So much of it. So much and you were scared to ask if it was his or someone else’s. Whenever he came home to you, bloody and bruised, you were grateful. You were grateful he was home. But you also were reminded of his mortality. You were reminded that there were some things that even Khonshu couldn’t heal or fix. You didn't ask details because you knew Jake wasn’t ready to share them yet. But his eyes were haunted and hurting.
And he felt it. He felt how your fingers shook that night as he took you apart. He felt the lump in your throat as he wrapped his fingers around it. He felt your desperation as you tugged him closer, closer. Never close enough.
He saw your anxieties as you jittered around this apartment this morning. You fretted, cleaning things that were already clean. You paced, straightening Steven’s books, an impossible task. You fussed, folding Marc’s laundry. Jake had enough when he saw your hands shake as you tried to replace the water in the flower vase he bought you. So he kissed your fingertips to get you to stop fluttering about. He said he wanted to take you somewhere. He blindfolded you using one of his ties. He made a few promises about what he would do later tonight when he saw the way you looked with his tie covering your eyes. He kissed you senseless in the back of his car and then some. He only stopped when he realized the time and cursed you would be late.
You feel the car stop. You perk up and strain to hear. You can hear people walking about, the London traffic, and you can feel the outside breeze through the open window.
“Let me see, mi amor,” Jake leans over and unties the tie. You blink into the sunlight and are greeted by Jake’s smoldering eyes, always burning so intensely, making your knees shake regardless of the situation. Jake smirks as if sensing your thoughts and pulls you over the console for a deep kiss. And a second, and a third, and a fourth. He only stops when a group of teenagers walking by whistle at the two of you.
Jake grins at your reddening face and gets out of the car. You smile, knowing he wants you to wait so he can open the door, as always. He always insists on bringing chivalry back single-handedly.
He opens the door with a flourish and extends a hand to you, pressing another kiss to your temple. “Surprise.” He whispers against your ear, eliciting shivers all down your spine. He doesn’t even try to be sexy, he just is. How infuriating.
You look over his shoulder and see the sign announcing a flower and plant market. You gasp, eyes widening as they take in all the booths full of color and pots and fertilizers and tools.
“Para mi florecita,” he pulls a single sunflower from his inner jacket, a proud smile on his face. And you can't help it. You explode in laughter, beaming, and wrap your arms around his shoulders as he stumbles back from the force of your hug. Jake always brought flowers home. Always. After lyfting, ubering, and moonknighting. You begged him to tell you where he got the flowers from, you wanted to start raising plants again. But he always said he couldn’t reveal his secret spot. What if you started buying flowers for yourself? However, seeing you worried sick last night and this morning, he changed his mind. Who was he to deny his girl anything?
“You actually ended up bringing me?” You say in awe.
He leans in, boyish grin overtaking his features, your energy infecting him. “You could ask me for the moon and stars and I would steal them.” He nuzzles the side of your head. “Or I can get them through legitimate means if that’s more impressive.”
You shake your head and smile. You totally believe him. “I hope you’re ready to be a plant dad because once I go in there, I’m going to do some serious damage to my wallet.” You tease, playing with the curls that escape his cabbie hat.
He pokes at your sides and elicits shocked laughter from you as you flinch away. “As if I’m letting you pay for anything. What kind of a plant dad would I be?”
The large grin never leaves your face as he takes you from stall to stall, every vendor greeting him by name with a smile on their as he proudly introduces you as his girlfriend. Many of the vendors give you free flowers, elated to finally meet Jake’s girl, who single-handedly contributes to the entire street every month.
But your favorite part is seeing the rare sight of Jake blush when you tie all the flowers together in a bouquet and gift them with a kiss to his cheek and a whispered “for you.”
+1
It's bad, it was a bad one. Whatever mission Khonshu took the boys on it was bad because they came home a week early. You know it's Marc fronting from the way he walks, from the way he presses his wet face against your neck so you won't see it.
“Baby,” you croon. He wills the bloodstained suit away, leaving him in his cargo pants and black T-shirt. You ask him to tell you what happened, if he wants to talk about it. But he shakes his head, hands shaking and standing looking so unsure and small in the middle of the living room.
You kiss his cheeks and reassure him. You peel the jacket off, nudge him to sit so you can take the shoes off. You help him wash the blood from his knuckles and press kisses to his shoulders, neck, chest, as you peel his shirt off.
You pat his tear stains away with a damp towel and urge him into the shower. You run your hands through his hair while whispering reassurances to his ear. You turn off the shower when he shakes and asks you to take him to bed.
He wears Steven’s soft blue sweater and waits for you to join him. You wear Jake’s soft shirt and crawl into bed beside him.
“Can you hug me?” He asks. And its so small, so unlike Marc. So unlike Marc to be small and timid like Steven. So unlike Marc to ask for what he wants like Jake. Your heart beaks.
“You never have to ask,” you fiercely tell him as you wrap your arms around him. He tucks himself to your chest. And you know it's Steven from the way his breathing pattern changes. Steven starts to hiccup, trying to keep the tears away.
“Stevie, let them out. Its okay, you’re safe here.” You promise. And he cries in earnest, wrapping his arms so tightly around you, like he’s trying to meld into one body with you. You hold him, promising him over and over that he came home and he’s safe for now. That he did his best. That whatever he needs, whatever he wants, whatever he asks will be his. If you need to find a way to free him from Khonshu you will. If he wants to walk around London at 1am to clear his mind, you’ll go with him. That if he doesn’t want to leave the apartment tomorrow, you won’t. After a while the cries start to slow down and you can tell he fell asleep from the way his breathing evens out. After a while, you hear your last boy appear.
“Mi vida,” Jake says, voice hoarse.
“Hmm?” You prompt, as you take in his reddened eyes, calmer. “Do you need anything? Anything I can do for you?”
“I don’t need anything else,” he says as he snuggles closer in your arms, kissing your neck and then above your heart. “I’m home.”
You smile into his hair, tightening your arms around him. “Yes, you are.”