Chapter Text
Marcus was nice. Actually, Marcus was very nice. And, objectively, Simon knew that Marcus was handsome. He was tall and broad, with smooth skin and dark blonde curls, and his brown eyes were pretty and kind. And Marcus had become a frequent visitor of the Eriksson house. Every few days, when Sara would come home from the stables Marcus would come with her. He’d spend the rest of the day there, playing cards with his sister in their living room, helping his mom with dinner, and Simon avoided him like the plague choosing instead to keep to his room. Today was one of those days.
Simon was in the kitchen turning on the faucet to fill a glass with water when he saw them walking up to the door from the street, Sara’s pants littered with grass stains and both of them cloaked in thick winter jackets. Fuck. He turned off the water, glass only half full, and was making his way back to the hallway to retreat to his room when the lock clicked behind him and the door creaked open, the sound of laughter and bird coos floating through the house.
“Ah Simon!” Sara called, giggling, “You’re out! You’ll never believe what Louis did today.” Her grin was loud in her voice, and Simon felt his resolve to flee disintegrate at her happy tone. He turned around, pushing a smile onto his face that he knew wouldn't meet his eyes.
“What did your horse do, Sara”
“He totally threw me off today!” She said, and a laugh bubbled from both her and Marcus as they made their way from the entryway into the kitchen, placing bags of groceries onto the table. “He was acting so sweet, and I thought it was all going well, but something spooked him and he bucked me off!” She was smiling, but Simon felt his blood run cold.
“Holy shit, Sara, are you okay?” he said, rushing over to grab her chin with his free hand, checking for cuts and bruises but finding none.
She rolled her eyes and she and Marcus began to pull produce and snacks out of the plastic bags. “I’m fine Simon, I promise. Ask Marcus, he was there!” For the first time since they had walked in Simon let his eyes glance at their guest. He was smiling, opening cupboards, and putting away cans and boxes.
"She was fine, Simon. You have my word. I think Louis was more scared than Sara.” His voice was smooth as he looked over his shoulder to lock eyes with Simon. Warm brown eyes. Simon looked away.
“Oh, okay. Well, good.” Simon said, trying to keep his voice above a whisper. Sara and Marcus both smiled but stayed silent continuing their work with the groceries. Simon figured that now was as good a time as any to give an excuse to leave, “Well, I’m gonna - go to my room now. Got some homework to finish before break ends.”
“Wait!” Marcus said, dropping a bundle of celery he was about to place in the refrigerator and moving to grab Simon’s wrist. “Um, Sara and I were going to play some games. Would you maybe like to stay out here with us instead?” He gave Simon a hopeful smile, and Simon wished he hadn’t noticed the slight blush that formed on the other boy’s cheeks.
“Uh.” Simon droned, looking at Sara for support but only found her knowing smirk, “Sure, why not.”
Marcus grinned, “Cool.”
“Yeah,” Sara cut in, “Cool.” She dipped her hands into the last bag on the counter and pulled out two six-packs of beer, “Very cool!”
– * –
Simon didn’t drink, or at least he didn’t use to. But recently he has understood the draw of a buzz, a haze in which things are forgotten or softened. So now, Simon was sitting on the living room rug four drinks in–nursing his fifth, utterly failing at playing cards, and thinking. Marcus was nice, Marcus was funny, Marcus had a drunken flush across his face, and Marcus was annoyingly good at card games. Every round they played he won, but he was so goddamn nice about it that Simon couldn't even be frustrated. What he was getting frustrated by was how Marcus kept looking at him over his hand, blushing and smiling and making little quips in an attempt to get a laugh out of him. Simon should have been blushing and smiling too. Simon was frustrated that it wasn’t working. Marcus was nice, funny, and good at card games. Sara liked him, Mama liked him, even Louis liked him. Marcus was attractive. His blonde hair looked soft, his brown eyes looked kind, and he was a cute boy smiling and laughing and blushing at Simon, for Simon. And it wasn’t working. Simon knew why it wasn’t working. He hated that he knew why it wasn’t working. Because Marcus was tall, but he was too tall. Marcus had blonde hair, but it wasn't long enough for him to need to brush it back with his fingers. Marcus had brown eyes, but they were too dark, they didn't glisten like honey when the light hit them. Marcus was confident, his nerves weren’t written over his body language and his expressions. When Simon smiled at him he didn't double take, gasp, or bring his thumb to his lips; he only smiled back with rosy cheeks. Marcus was handsome but he wasn't right.
Sara laid down her hand, a solid round for her, grinning widely. “No way I don’t win this time!” she laughed. Simon knew she had him beaten at least as he put down his own, smiling. Marcus looked slightly surprised, smiled softly, and laid his cards on the table next to Sara and Simons, a near-perfect hand. Sara groaned, and said with a hiccup, “Oh. My. God, Marcus. Let a girl win for once!” Marcus giggled, sputtering out a few apologies as he wrote down the points for the round.
“Okay,” Sara said, moving to get up from her place on the couch, swaying slowly, “I think I need to call it a night. I need to seriously sleep if you expect me to ride tomorrow.”
Simon nodded, taking a sip from his bottle, “Marcus was definitely going to win anyways so no need to finish the game.” He turned to look at the victor in question, a golden laurel of overhead lighting gracing his blonde hair in the warm glow of the living room. “Are you going home tonight? It’s late I'm not sure if the bus is still running. Don’t you live kind of far?”
Marcus grinned and nodded as he whispered, “I do live far,” and Simon was now entirely hit with the fact that it had sounded like he was making a proposition of ‘Do you want to sleep here tonight?’
“Stay at our house tonight then Marcus,” Sara said, moving toward her bedroom door, her light wavy hair bouncing on her shoulders, “But you can’t sleep with me, so Simon better cough up his bed.” Simon felt his cheeks flush and started sputtering. “Goodnight boys, sleep tight,” Sara smiled, closing her door behind her and leaving the two of them alone.
“I can sleep on the floor” Marcus offered, standing up. He looked down at Simon who was still seated on the ground, his dark eyes sparkling as he offered a pale hand to him.
“Yeah, uh, okay.” Simon agreed, taking his hand and pulling himself to his feet. Marcus’ fingers twitched around his hand, trying to decide if he should let go or not. Simon decided for him, sliding his hand out of Marcus’ and beginning to gather up their bottles. “You go on ahead I’m gonna clean up,” Simon nodded his head in the direction of the washroom, “My room is through there. I’m not sure if any of my clothes will fit you but, um, you can get ready for bed.” Marcus smiled slightly and walked away, as Simon busied about discarding the evidence and clearing up the table.
– * –
Simon wasn’t sure how much more time he could spend cleaning, he was running out of ways to stall going back to his room. Because there was a boy in his bedroom. A tall, blonde, boy with brown eyes, waiting for him. A warm rush ran through his chest, from the continued buzz of the beer or not he wasn't sure; but he felt himself sink into it. His tall, blonde, boy with brown eyes; in his bedroom, waiting for him to come in. He looked around the spotless living room, the fully stocked kitchen, the swept floors. Nothing left to be done but go to bed.
The boy in Simon’s room was sitting on the floor by the bed. A loose white t-shirt hung around his shoulder and his legs clad his checkered boxer shorts; pants and coat folded neatly on top of Simon’s desk chair, “Is this okay?” the boy asked, gesturing at his clothes. Simon nodded silently. The boy in his room was nice. He was pretty, smiling up at Simon from his place on the floor. His eyes were dark, his hair was soft, his skin was pale, and he was looking at Simon as if he had hung the stars. Simon turned on the lava lamp on his desk and turned off the big light, letting the dim orange glow fill the room saving it from light but keeping it from complete darkness.
“You have fish,” The boy said, standing up from the floor. Simon’s breath caught in his throat.
“Yes,” he said, barely audible.
“Do they have names then?”
“They do”
The boy in his room touched Simon’s arm, “and those would be…” he teased, the smile evident in his tone. This was too much, but at the same time it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
Simon turned himself towards the boy, “Does it matter?” he whispered. His eyes blurred, their faces were so close, too close to focus on things as insignificant as features.
“I guess not,” the boy said, “just trying to make some conversation.” His warm breath ghosted Simon’s cheeks.
“Do you want to have a conversation?” Simon asked, eyes trailing down to the boy's lips.
“Not really,” he whispered, releasing Simon’s arm to wrap his own around the shorter boy as he took Simon’s lips in his own.
The kiss wasn’t soft, no nerves or hesitation. It was direct and sure and brave and hot. Simon felt his bottom lip get gently scraped between teeth and gasped. At the small opening of his lips, the boy’s tongue begged for entrance. Simon let him. His mind emptied, focused only on the feeling of warm and wet kisses, of long and strong arms wrapped around his waist. His own arms moved finally from his sides to place them around the boy’s neck. His fingers touched the hair on the nape of his neck. The lips pressed against his gasped quickly before reattaching to Simons fiercely, the arms around his waist tightened. Simon took his queue that this was a good move and began raking his fingers through that hair, tugging on the short strands. A moan against his kiss, a harder tug a deeper gasp. Short strands of blonde hair. Simon inhaled, putting an inch of space between their faces and looking up into his eyes. Dark eyes. His skin-smooth and rosy. His shoulders-broad and strong.
“Woah,” Marcus whispered, raising his hand to Simon’s cheek, brushing a tear he hadn’t realized he had let out, “are you okay Simon?” Maybe this was good. It wasn’t like he was doing anything wrong. The two of them weren’t doing anything wrong. It was fine. It was safe.
“Yeah,” Simon said, “Just a little overwhelmed.”
Marcus let out a little laugh at that, stroking Simon’s cheek lightly. With a wink, he said, “I tend to have that effect on people.” barely above a whisper. His voice was kind. Simon smiled. Would it be so bad if he just closed his eyes? Let himself pretend? It wouldn’t be fair to Marcus. Because the boy in his bedroom was Marcus, not Wilhelm. But he would have no way of knowing. Neither of them would. Not Wille, not Marcus. Only Simon would know what he was thinking while he was being kissed and touched, his eyes and mouth shut tight.