Page 34 of Margins

Yeah. Please

He hears nothing else until after Elena’s been asleep for hours, and he thinks he must have drifted off too, because it’s so late when his phone startles him, and he knocks it to the floor in his attempt to pull it from the coffee table. Alex blinks at whatever is still playing on the TV, then looks down at the message.

Leaving work now if you still want me to stop by

Alex fumbles through an answer, his vision still blurry.

Yeah I’ll unlock the door for you. just come in

As soon as that’s done, Alex turns off the TV and hurries upstairs to brush his teeth, pretending it matters what he looks like when he still has creases from the couch pillow on his cheek. He’d changed into pajamas a while ago, but it won't surprise Elijah to find him like this in the middle of the night, and he only splashes water on his face before he returns to the living room to lie back down. He keeps his eyes closed until he hears the soft click of the door and tries to smile, even if he’s too tired to do much of anything.

Elijah kicks off his shoes, his work shirt already untucked when he steps toward the couch, blond curls everywhere, and his hand squeezing the back of his neck as he looks down.

“Why am I here?” he asks, the question soft, even if it feels like it cracks something open in the silent room.

“C’mere,” Alex mumbles. “I can rub your neck for you.”

“Pretty sure that wasn’t your plan when you texted me at dinnertime,” Elijah says, though he sits down as soon as Alex makes room for him, the blanket carelessly draped across the back of the couch now. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just missed you all week and didn’t want to have to wait ‘til Monday. Take off your shirt.”

“Alex.”

“No?”

“Not no, but—” He sighs and unbuttons quickly, shrugging out of the shirt and setting it on the coffee table with his phone, keys, and wallet.

And he’s—his body is—it’s not like Alex couldn’t have imagined. Not even like he hasn’t imagined it, having already been wrapped up in Elijah a time or two. But even more than a little drowsy, seeing Elijah half undressed on his couch is enough to have Alex reaching for him in a way he doesn’t think he’s ever reached for anyone before, a shame all on its own. Elijah shifts until he can turn his back on Alex and let him stare, and Alex manages nothing more until he curves his hands over Elijah’s shoulders and catches him shivering beneath his touch.

Alex tries to remember that he’s not as alone as he sometimes feels.

There’s another tattoo, gentle ocean waves wrapped around Elijah’s bicep, and it’s only because there’s so much more bare skin in front of him that Alex saves his admiration of it for another time. For now, his thumbs press into tight muscles, and he works up Elijah’s neck and all the way down his spine, any of the chill Elijah might have carried in from the cold outside gone under the warmth of Alex’s hands. Neither one of them speaks, though they don’t bother to stop the small sounds they haven’t tamed, and Alex thinks maybe he could do this until morning if he wasn’t so scared of each minute as it comes. But then his touch slows, and he sees the goosebumps on Elijah’s skin, and he leans close enough to kiss them, far too tired to tell his body it can’t have what’s right there.

“God, you’re so—”

He doesn’t know how to finish the sentence, so many possibilities on the tip of a tongue licking at the back of Elijah’s neck now, his hands flat against Elijah’s back and then his ribs and then his chest. His mouth lands at Elijah’s ear and he could probably say anything, but he bites down on his lip instead—a move copied from the man in front of him now—and the sting of it only lasts until Elijah turns in his arms and opens his mouth for a kiss, the next several seconds closer to filthy than anything they’ve done so far.

“Why am I here?” Elijah asks again.

But Alex doesn’t have a better answer now than he did the first time around because saying that he missed Elijah and didn’t want to wait until Monday is true, but it’s not nearly all of it, and he just needs this certainty for as long as he can have it, something too close to slipping through his fingers altogether. He gives and he takes until it becomes a beautifully mutual thing, and as their tongues drag together, Alex feels Elijah begin to push him backward, Elijah’s weight pressing him into the cushions and Alex left to gasp into his mouth. There’s not really room for them here, not for long, but Alex doesn’t know what he expects them to do anyway, his body screaming for something it’s never been given before. And Elijah is so sturdy and solid and strong on top of Alex, everything about that heady enough to promise him he’ll be safe when he finally puts a fantasy or two into words.

For now, he claws at Elijah’s back, and it leaves Elijah rocking against him, Alex burning when he realizes his pajama pants won’t hide any of his secrets.

Maybe he’s only trying to keep them because lifelong habits are hard to break.

But he has to bury a moan in Elijah’s skin when he’s sure he can feel Elijah’s cock responding too, Alex arching off the couch in search of more, even when he already knows he can’t have it yet.

“I can’t—not here—I just want—” Alex stammers, stealing another kiss before he chases Elijah’s body again and tries to go on. “I can’t stop.”

There’s not much there, but it’s enough to make Elijah go mostly still, his body heavy against Alex’s, but his mouth light at his jaw. “We can always stop. Always.”

Alex blinks up at him, slow and stupid. “You drove all the way over here. You live so much closer to the bar, and you drove all the way over here.”

“Missed you, too,” Elijah admits, his hair even messier from where Alex must have touched him without thinking, and Elijah's fingers comb through his curls once he’s finally pushed himself away from where Alex still lies, his eyes flickering toward a jacket Elena left draped over an armchair. “Have you told them?”

He’s grateful Elijah isn’t close enough to feel the way his entire body tightens, but Alex must give something away because Elijah backs up even more, falling against the couch and tipping his head backward until he can stare at the ceiling, discomfort in every breath he takes.

“It’s not—it has nothing to do with you,” Alex tries, though his it’s not you, it’s me defense sounds terrible even as he offers it up. And maybe he could argue that he doesn’t know what there is to tell when so little has happened between them, except that it would’ve sounded weak enough last Sunday and would be laughable now. Alex is already upside down and in danger of falling somewhere from there, and he could handwrite a hundred messages of his own about exactly that.

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