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“You have freckles.”
Pale sunlight came in glimmering waves as it filtered in through the thin, midnight-blue curtains that’d been strung across the window by Craig’s bed, the rays painting his room, and the boy atop his chest, within its shimmering hold. There was really nothing to do on an languid weekend in May, when the school year was winding down and everyone would soon be headed in different directions to make their own life after high school, and so, Stan had stayed the night at his house. Now, it was the early dredges of Saturday afternoon, and Craig was perfectly content to lie on his bed with the weight of the boy he loved most on top of him, eyes narrowed in concentration as the familiar harmonies of a game Stan was playing on his Switch tickled his ear from where the console rest next to him.
The click of the pause menu popped throughout the room as Stan shifted his weight a bit to regard Craig, rolling his eyes with a barely visible flush that would’ve gone unnoticed, if not for the way the sunlight continued to capture Stan in its hold like he were some museum Madonna, just as striking and twice as gorgeous, in Craig’s perception.
“I’ve always had freckles, dude. Like, since I was six or something.” His eyes were deep, glistening vessels of the ocean on a sparkling day, or perhaps the calm glow of an iceberg in the arctic left undisturbed as they bored into Craig, and as the latter reached up a hand to brush a lock of mussed, inky hair behind Stan‘s ear, all his mind could muster was— How did I get so lucky?
“Well, the cold hides them. And you’re always burying your face in my shoulder whenever it’s hot outside, so that explains why they’ve never really been this… defined.” Craig focused his eyes away from Stan’s piercing gaze, choosing instead to examine the tapestry of light freckles that were peppered across the boy’s face, wondering if he could count each individual detail, wondering if he could memorize every aspect of his face within his mind, wondering if they could stay like this forever, frozen in a moment in time where their love was as young and restless as the pale sun that slowly crawled its angelic fingers into his bedroom.
Carefully, so carefully as if everything each boy was made of had been composed of sparkling, delicate glass, Craig shifted his hand to Stan’s jaw and pulled him down to meet his lips, and as the latter responded in kind, Craig vaguely wondered how people ever claimed to get bored or restless in their relationships, because every time he felt Stan’s feather-light skin upon his own, or his soft breath as it ghosted across his face, or his intricate, delicate touch that seemed to sear Craig’s skin with overwhelming warmth and desire, it felt like the first time all over again, and he knew with every last drop of all the certainty that a seventeen-year-old-boy could hold within his frame that this was right, one of the only things he’d ever gotten right in his life, and every time he tasted Stan, he ached for no less than an eternity more.
The soft jazz of the pause screen Stan’s game was still held in limbo by trickled into Craig’s pleasure-addled brain as he slowly lifted his frame to lean up against the headboard of his bed, delicate hands slipping from jaw to waist as Stan straddled his lap to intensify their connection. He could feel the body heat of Stan blistering his body and scorching its way into his soul, but what an eternally pleasurable way to die that would be, he thought, here with his lover, here with the boy with the bags beneath his eyes and the freckles on his face and the soda on his tongue as he pressed into Craig’s mouth like he loved him, like he really, really did love him and perhaps it was a little silly, a little childish and restless even, but every time Stan reminded Craig of his love for him, whether it be in words, attention, or certain acts such as the one they’d currently divulged themselves in, Craig could feel his heart thrumming against his chest, thrum-thrum-thrumming because it was Stan who held the lock, and it was Stan who would be the only one who would ever hold the key to his heart.
His grasp on the boy’s waist tightened as he felt Stan’s shy smile press against his face, and delicately removing his lips from their hazy kiss, Craig began to focus his movements along the pale expanse of his neck, peppering light kisses and gnawing deep, fervent marks while his lover shivered in pleasure above him. Hearing Stan’s unbridled, pitchy moans always stirred something fervid inside of Craig, knowledge of the unique, blessed ability he had to turn Stan into a reddened, beautiful, breathless mess always sending him into a fit of sweet, animalistic pleasure because he loved Stan, he loved him with every last bone in his body and every last nerve in his mind, and he knew he would love him—oh, he would always love him, until the day that he perished.
Stan’s head lay lax in the crook of his neck as Craig left his last, maroon-glimmered mark on the boy’s neck, silently admiring the way it lingered and throbbed where it stood, and knowing that this was not a sting of ownership, but a mark of his love, a mark of his affection and a mark of the fact that he would do anything, would give his last breath as well as the last fragment of his soul, if only to guarantee the peace and happiness of the only one he could ever love and hold like this. A breathy laugh escaped his frame as he slowly slipped down until he was lying flat on the bed once more, though this time with a tighter hold as Stan remained attached to his body. Reaching for his phone, which had been discarded between his sheets some hours prior, he saw that it was half past noon, as well as a few new messages from his group chats that lit up his screen—atop a wallpaper that showed Craig raising his brows in humor at the camera while Stan slept softly on his shoulder.
“Clyde said everyone’s heading over to his place in about a hour for some video games.” He murmured in the boy’s ear as he read over the message, which consisted of an additional plea for him to bring some snacks, too; he hummed in Stan’s general vicinity, perusing him for a response, though it was mostly for his own amusement as he was pretty sure he already had a good idea of his lover’s answer, likely the same as his own.
“Fuck no.” Stan’s voice came out muffled as he spoke into his bedsheets, before lifting his head with a scoff. “I don’t plan on leaving this house or really even stepping outside until at least tomorrow. I’ve got everything I need here—“ he peppered a quick kiss onto the side of Craig’s face. “—and right here—“ he picked up his Switch from where it’d gotten lost in the sheets and grinned at Craig in response.
Raising a brow, Craig plucked the console from Stan’s hold—ignoring his startled whine—and examined the bright, flashy video game displayed.
“Craig—you are literally so bad at video games, give that back—“ Craig shrugged Stan off with a grin on his face as he quickly reminded himself of the Switch controls and unpaused the game, watching as the screen plunged into a haunted-looking subway track with funky music as he tried to maneuver a bus with what appeared to be a tail around the creepy map. “Cra-aig, you’re gonna get me killed!”
“Literally, what are even you talking about? I’m so good at this shit. What is this game again? Personal?” Craig knew the name of the game; he was merely choosing to be an ass for the overall enjoyment he derived from it.
“Persona 5,” Stan said through gritted teeth as he lunged for the console once more, Craig turning on his side to keep it out of his reach as he stifled down a bout of laughter while Stan kept trying to reach over him.
“Why does that one have a red, glowing aura?” Craig muttered mostly to himself, brow knit, watching as one of the monstrous, hunched creatures traced with a glow of red light began to chase the bus he apparently couldn’t stop crashing into the wall, before it smacked him into a battle.
“Shit.”
“ DUDE!”
The main characters in the party had suddenly been thrust into the middle of the hazy, pulsating battlefield, and the music had quickly shifted into something foreboding and intense as the monster split into three separate, powerful beings, each one taking their turn lashing out at the spandex-clad heroes they surrounded. Looking up from the game, he caught Stan’s eyes while his brow creased apologetically. He shifted back over on the bed and lightly patted the spot next to him; Stan huffed and rolled his eyes as he snatched back the console and tucked himself in against him, his head resting against under Craig’s jaw with his bare knees—he’d borrowed a pair of slightly loose sleeping shorts from Craig—brushing his lower abdomen.
He watched in silence as Stan expertly maneuvered through the battle, crystalline eyes set in concentration as lithe fingers clicked and twisted the controls, finding the weaknesses of each individual enemy and clawing his way through them. The names of the characters were on the tip of his tongue, though not currently available for him to easily recollect. The one with the inky blue hair and amusingly detached remarks was his favorite, he decided, and it seemed to be one of Stan’s as well—given that he was one of the four he’d selected for his main party.
The screen flashed with bright bursts of color and excited quips from the thieves— or so they were called. Stan was rambling on about something concerning the battle, likely chastising Craig for his recklessness, but Craig wasn’t particularly listening. Instead, he closed his eyes and buried his face in the mess atop his head, inhaling as the dark strands tickled his face and the scent of Tricia’s coconut mango shampoo overwhelmed his senses—Stan had a habit of using his sister’s hair care products whenever he stayed over, a fact that would likely result in Tricia lunging herself at him again when she inevitably noticed its missing weight later in the evening.
“Hell yeah,” Stan whispered to himself, and Craig removed himself from the boy’s hair as they both stared down at the screen, victory music playing as the battle’s loot glimmered in front of the celebrating characters.
Bored, Craig tossed the Switch to the side and tightly enveloped Stan in his arms, pressing relentless, repeated kisses along his face and neck as the boy squirmed in response.
“Craig!” He could feel Stan’s deep flush against him as his futile screams turned into loud, boyish laughter, his lips curved into a bright grin while he tried—though not really—to remove Craig’s grasp about his body. “You’re so—so—dude!”
“Nerd. You’re such a freaking nerd, man.” Craig whispered against Stan’s jaw as the boy eventually relaxed in his hold, tilting his head so they held each other’s gaze in a fervent grasp.
“You’re literally gonna go to school to study astronomy and physics, dude. I really don’t think it gets much nerdier that that.” Stan teasingly hissed at him, reeling himself forward, right in Craig’s vision, right in Craig’s face, so that the latter boy felt a familiar heat rising in his lower abdomen, just before Stan nipped at his nose.
Swearing, he sharply turned his head away from Stan, who had erupted into a fit of laughter at his expense; in response, Craig shoved himself away from the boy and got up from the bed, glaring down at him—though it was a glare devoid of any true malice.
“Aw, babe, I’m sorry,” Stan sat on his knees atop the bed and gave his best fake-pout at Craig and his poor bitten nose, the latter who planned to play up the minuscule injury as much as possible because—well, because he thought it was amusing and it did terribly exciting things to his teenaged hormones whenever Stan would put on his whole apologetic pouting charade.
Lifting his chin towards the sky, Craig mock-fainted onto his bed and fluttered his lashes, lightly groaning as he placed a hand over his nose with the tiny indentations of a bite mark.
“You say that, and yet—“ He shifted his head with a great deal of dramatics, turning his eyes towards Stan as he peered down at him in a fair bit of smug amusement. “—here I lay, my abusive boyfriend having attacked me yet again. What will I say when confronted about these horrible marks?”
Stan shoved a pillow against his face.
“Idiot, I’m the one with literally a thousand freaking bites on my neck in case you so graciously forgot, dude.” He huffed, tilting his head over Craig’s own so that the latter was peering at him from an upside down angle, wisps of smooth, black hair tickling the front of his face.
Craig simply grinned at his lover’s remarks, delicately grasping his jaw to barely press against his lips, Stan leaning forward atop his knees and Craig laying flat against the bed as he pulled them into a quick, syrupy, upside down kiss. As they slowly parted, their eyes remained fixated together, neither boy breaking the silence as the heat of everything flushed their faces and dilated their pupils; in the end, it was Craig who spoke first.
“I love you so much.”
Simple words spilled from the bitten, swollen lips of a simple teenage boy who’d always preferred STEM classes to English, yet the words, no matter their simplicity, were honest and true and had been running through Craig’s mind since the very first time he’d pressed his lips against Stan’s on the day that felt like an eternity ago. And if he weren’t so close to him at the moment, their parted faces mere inches apart, perhaps he wouldn’t have seen the way Stan’s eyes glistened in response, flush tears gathering on his lashes, drooping down to a perfect, clear drop as a few trickled and slid onto Craig’s face below.
They’d been together for nearly a year now, and those words—just the three, let alone the so much Craig had somehow found it within himself to follow up with at the end—had never been verbally spoken between them. Stan remained silent, and it was a pin-drop, teardrop silence that swallowed up the room, Craig’s heart pounding and pounding and pounding in his chest as his mind quickly scanned a litany of negative responses that Stan would surely utter now, because the seconds were tick, tick, ticking by and Stan wasn’t saying a word and Stan just wouldn’t stop crying and—ow—a tear had fallen directly into Craig’s eye and Craig was stupid but he’d always been stupid and rushed things too fast and now Stan was going to break up with him for being too needy and too emotional and—
“I love you, too.” Stan’s voice cracked a little at the end, and despite his most fervent effort, Craig couldn’t stop the grin that split across his face at the words. “I love you—“ A kiss to Craig’s forehead. “—I love you—“ A kiss to Craig’s eye. “—I love you so much, Craig.” A delicate kiss to Craig’s nose.
He couldn’t help himself.
Flipping around, Craig pressed himself against Stan once more, shoving him down onto the bed as his melodic, crackling laughter filled his ears. He pressed a kiss to everywhere, every single swatch of skin he could see on Stan’s body, delicate, tender kisses because God—his heart was going to burst, his chest was going to explode, and sure, maybe he was only seventeen—eighteen in a couple weeks, but he knew that if he could only spend the rest of his life here, kissing and loving the only boy truly meant for him in the entire universe, he’d spend the rest of his life in bliss; if all he had in this world was Stan, he knew there was really nothing, nothing else he would ever need.