Domestic

Chapter 4

Soap knew the people they sat with, but they were all Marcus' friends. He'd been raised in the city, he had roots. Soap was a country boy, a city transplant. He had no roots.

But he was popular with them, and he enjoyed being around people that knew his partner. Because they seemed, for the most part, like good people. And if they were good people, and they hung around, then they must have known who Marcus truly was. They must see the good in him that Soap saw. That he knew hid beneath the dark, hard exterior.

It had made him nervous, but Marcus hadn't embarrassed him in front of Simon, and he was glad. And curious, about the woman his coworker had been sitting with. They seemed friendly enough, but not flirtatious. The thought of Simon flirting inadvertently intrigued him. He couldn't even begin to imagine it.

Refocusing, he leaned into the conversation, his boyfriend's strong arm at his back. He listened to one of the men in front of him tell a story about a camping trip in the Catskills, asking questions and laughing at their antics. At some point, Marcus laid his hand on Soap's leg, stilling it. Soap's cheeks heated and he hid them behind a long drink of his beer. He didn't want to be annoying, he didn't want to be immature. Marcus was good about keeping him still and reserved. How it should be.

It wasn't until a bit later that he actually found himself retreating. Someone made a joke, a damn funny one. The others laughed. Soap laughed with them. Marcus grabbed him by his arm and leaned to whisper in his ear. Because Soap loved him, and wanted to be close to him, and felt comfortable in his presence, he leaned in and welcomed his breath on his neck.

"You're embarrassing me." He whispered.

That kind of thing shouldn't surprise him. It was common, it was one of the things that had made Soap feel like they belonged together, in the beginning. The honesty, even if it stung, Marcus' willingness to settle him, pull him back. Keep him from taking things too far, acting out of turn. Making him remember his age and his station and reminding him to match it to his actions.

But Soap couldn't help the look of surprise that he knew passed over his features anyway. He usually told Soap not to embarrass himself, pulled him back from some edge. But this time it was an accusation.

It hurt him. He did his best to hide it, but hurting Marcus hurt him. So, he sat back and kept quiet. He finally let himself look back toward the bar, thinking he'd go and spend a minute talking to Simon. But Simon was nowhere to be found. He steeled himself, then. He didn't need rescue. It wasn't a battlefield.

Simon was a force, he realized, he carried a power over Soap that he hadn't recognized until that moment. He'd thought it was just a quiet air of authority that he constantly sought, but it was really just...quiet. Calm. He carried a sense of safety and stillness. They were solid opposites and it seemed magnetic, somehow.

It got dark, they tapped out, paying their tab and walking to Soap's car. He drove, so he'd stuck to a couple of drinks, cutting himself off a couple of hours prior. Marcus had not.

The air was warm enough that he kept his jacket over his arm and they walked in silence. Soap felt that anxiety again, like walking a minefield. The calm was so fragile and he was beginning to doubt his ability to hold them together. To defend Marcus. Or placate him. The thought turned his stomach and he unlocked the car, climbing into the driver's seat.

"I didn't mean for you to pout for the rest of the night." Marcus said, buckling his seatbelt.

Soap nodded. Of course. He'd be treated like the child he apparently was. He was on the edge of his own anger when he finally replied.

"Sorry you can't bring your boyfriend around your friends without getting embarrassed."

"They expect something of me." He said.