The thing about Simon is that in so far as Markus is concerned, he’s ridiculously easy to read.
For the most part, this isn’t an issue. In fact, Markus actually loves that about him. He loves how open he is, how empathy and understanding will show so clearly on his face, how wonderfully genuine he is in everything he does. Markus loves how Simon owns that, loves how he easily he approaches people, loves how selfless he is. Everything about Simon is sincere, honest, and it’s always obvious.
It’s obvious when he’s welcoming new refugees to Jericho, greeting them with kind smiles and distracting them from whatever horrors they’d escaped from by telling them the story of Carl’s mansion, and how they came to call it theirs. He’ll show them around, speak in gentle tones and never tell more than he needs to, never more than what he knows Markus is comfortable with. Simon knows his secrets, keeps them close, and Markus will watch from afar at how whoever is with him relaxes, how they’ll smile back and listen to him, stare at the paintings Simon points out until their eyes soften, and Markus knows that they no longer see a refuge they had to flee to, but the potential for a home, and a family.
It’s obvious when they’re in meetings, when all the diplomacy in the world isn’t helping Markus get his point across. Simon will join the conversation seamlessly, will speak his mind politely but firmly, and he always manages to word the truth in a way that resonates with whoever he’s talking to. Markus will sit back, let him take the lead, and Simon will smoothly steer them to where they need to go, his passion and determination so evident in his words and actions that he’ll gently pry open even those stubborn minds that to Markus had seemed welded shut.
It’s obvious when Simon listens to him, when they’re stealing a moment together in the garden or Markus’s office on the days where stress and frustration have gotten the better of him. Markus will let his thoughts spill out gracelessly, and Simon will watch him with gentle blue eyes, catching jumbled sentences and rearranging them, rephrasing them into something that makes sense. He’ll let Markus ask questions he already knows the answers to, and he’ll always answer honestly, sincerity paired with a sarcastic quip and that soft, loving smile that Markus records in his mind every time he sees it.
It’s obvious when they’re alone, when Markus lowers him onto the mattress and kisses him until everything else falls away. He’ll clutch at their bedsheets, scratching at the fabric as he arches into Markus’s touch, soft moans and gasps falling freely from kiss-bitten lips, and Markus will swallow each one, will press kisses to soft skin and whisper praise everywhere he can reach. And Simon will shiver, will breath out Markus’s name, give him everything Markus wants and then some, pliant and trusting and endlessly brave in his vulnerability. He’ll shatter under Markus’s hands, back bowing and pale legs shaking as he loses himself in the pleasure meant only for them, and there’s no fear there, no hesitation. It’s honesty in its purest form, and Markus will watch emotions flicker freely across his face, will learn as much as he can from every smile, every brush of pale fingers against his skin, will stare in quiet awe as Simon lets him know all of him.
The only issue with any of this is that, regardless of his valiant attempts to hide it, it’s also obvious when something is bothering Simon. And Markus is learning that he’s very, very stubborn when it comes to admitting this out loud.
Connor’s voice snaps him out of his reverie, and Markus jolts, looks up from the polished wood of his desk to meet concerned but somewhat annoyed brown eyes.
“Sorry,” he says quickly, “Lost in thought. You were saying?”
“You know you can ask me to leave, right?” Connor says, shifting in his seat, “I know you’re busy, and I don’t want to intrude if-”
“Connor,” Markus interrupts, “You’re not intruding. I just got side-tracked, is all. Please, continue.”
Connor doesn’t look convinced.
“About the Lieutenant,” Markus prompts, “What exactly is bothering you?”
“I’m not sure,” Connor says hesitantly, “I thought with time I’d understand these emotions better, but it just seems to get more confusing.”
Connor exhales through his nose, brows furrowing in frustration.
“You’ve been very helpful,” he tells him then, “Especially this past week, considering how often I’ve been here. But every time I see Hank it’s like I forget everything we talked about and I’m back to square one. I just freeze. Yesterday he accidentally brushed against me at the station and I thought my system malfunctioned because I couldn’t move for a solid five seconds.” He scowls at the desk. Markus just looks at him.
“Connor,” he says then, “You know I consider you a friend, yes?”
“Yes,” Connor says, somewhat sceptically – he’s still coming to terms with how easily he’d been forgiven for what his programming had made him do, but that’s a conversation for another day.
“Would it be alright for me to be somewhat brutally honest with you?”
“I’ve been coming here every other day for weeks, Markus,” Connor says flatly, “At this point I’ll take anything that’ll help me understand what this is.”
“Alright,” Markus says lightly, “In that case – you’re an idiot, and you’re in love with him.”
Connor blinks at him. Markus stares back, expression blank.
“…Noted,” Connor says slowly, carefully, his LED spinning a steady yellow. Markus gives him a patient smile, leans forward to cross his arms on the desk.
“For the record,” he mentions, “From what you’ve been telling me these past few weeks, I’d say there’s a 96% chance he feels the same way about you.”
“Oh,” Connor says weakly, “That’s good.”
“It is,” Markus agrees. For a moment it’s silent, and Markus takes a second to be amused by the fact that the android that had previously been a cold-hearted hunter and their collective worst nightmare is now sitting across from him and nervously fidgeting with his sleeves.
“What… What should I do?” Connor asks then, voice quiet, brown eyes glancing up at him with a significant amount of panic.
“You tell him, Connor,” Markus says gently, “And then whatever happens happens.”
“Oh,” Connor says again, cheeks flushing a furious shade of blue, and Markus ducks his head, stifling a bemused grin.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to get back to work,” he says instead, getting up from his desk, “But let me know how it goes.”
“Of course,” Connor says quickly, getting to his feet, “Thank you, Markus.”
“Don’t mention it,” Markus says, and Connor offers him a smile, stiff and unsure but genuine nonetheless, before holding a hand out for Markus to shake. Markus very nearly rolls his eyes.
“Alright, another quick lesson in how basic human relationships work,” he says firmly, and pulls him into a loose hug, “We’ve been friends for long enough that I think we’re past the formal handshake, Connor.”
“Right,” Connor says over his shoulder, and Markus tries not to wince as his hands flail around awkwardly before settling on his back, “Thank you.”
“Markus, sorry to bother you, but North was-” The door opens, and Simon stops midsentence as he steps into the room. Somewhat relieved and sending Simon a grateful look, Markus pulls away from Connor.
“We were just finished,” he tells him, “What was that about North?”
For a moment Simon just stands frozen in the doorway, a strange expression on his face as his eyes stay fixed on Connor.
“She’s wanting to talk to you,” he says finally, and his voice is clipped and uncharacteristically cold, “She’s downstairs.”
“Simon,” Markus starts, taking an uncertain step toward him, but Simon abruptly turns and walks out without another word, closing the door behind him with something that’s uncomfortably close to being a slam.
Markus stands in the middle of his office, stunned.
And yes, he’d known something was up, knows Simon has been avoiding him for the better part of this past week, leaving him in his office and only coming to see him when it’s strictly necessary, but he’d figured it was just because he was so busy. What with the increase of emails he needed to reply to, the stress of working with the Mayor of Detroit, of trying to find a time and a way to meet with the President to discuss their rights – He doesn’t even know how it had happened, just that he went from an android wanting freedom for his people to the unofficial leader and representative of said people. It’s terrifying, that much power, and difficult, because for all the trust androids seem to place in him, the humans see him more as a comic book vigilante. It’s frustrating, but Markus can deal with it, because he’s not alone in it. He has North, he has Josh, and he has Simon. Simon, who constantly helps him, constantly reassures him, constantly makes him feel calm and safe. He didn’t want to pry, didn’t want to make him feel pressured. Figured it wasn’t grave enough to justify Markus confronting him head-on, that doing so in this case would do more harm than good.
Clearly, he’d been wrong. Because Simon never, ever slams doors.
“I’ll leave you to your work,” Connor says then, and he doesn’t seem to have noticed anything; too preoccupied by other things. Markus nods absent-mindedly, walks him out of the room and down the corridor, glancing at Simon’s office as they pass it.
The door is shut. Markus’s heart sinks.
He leaves Connor at the stairs, barely remembers to say goodbye as the android makes his way down, but it doesn’t matter. Connor’s as lost in thought as he is, LED spinning yellow, and he doesn’t even notice North as he passes by her, head bowed as he walks out of the front door.
“What’s with him?” North asks, bemusedly pointing her thumb over her shoulder as she comes upstairs, and Markus shrugs, glances back towards Simon’s door, at the unfamiliar sight of it closed, modern wood fitting seamlessly in its frame.
“Nothing,” he says, and ignores both the unpleasant feeling in his stomach and the unimpressed look North gives him, “What was it that you wanted?”
The rest of the day goes by excruciatingly slowly, and despite him leaving his office door wide open and taking several unnecessary trips to the library downstairs for references he already has stored in his database, he doesn’t see Simon for the rest of the day. It’s only much later, when he’s finally done the work he needed to do and wearily steps into their bedroom, that he finds him there, lying against the headboard of their bed and staring blankly at a book he’s holding open on his lap.
“Hi,” Markus says quietly, relieved, and closes the door behind him with a gentle click. He tries to smile, to meet Simon’s eyes, but Simon doesn’t look up.
Slowly, Markus makes his way across the room, sits on the edge of the bed and places a tentative, cautious hand above Simon’s knee. Simon doesn’t pull away from him, but he doesn’t lean into the touch the way he usually does, doesn’t smile in acknowledgment or tap the back of his hand with his fingers the way he would on any other day.
“What’s wrong, Si?” Markus asks softly, and Simon shrugs, eyebrows knitting together in a frown.
“Nothing,” he murmurs, eyes still trained on the book that Markus seriously doubts he’s actually reading.
“You’ve been acting sour all week,” he says airily, trying to sound playful as he reaches up to brush a piece of Simon’s hair away from his forehead. This time, Simon shifts, moves back to avoid the touch, and Markus’s hand freezes, suspended in mid-air. Slowly, he lowers his arm, swallows the unease that climbs up his throat. Simon resolutely doesn’t meet his gaze.
“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong,” Markus tries again, concentrating on keeping his tone level, “Simon, talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to say,” Simon insists, “I’m fine, Markus.”
“Look, clearly something’s upset you, I-”
“Jesus, will you let it go? I just been swamped with work, is all. Not everything’s about you.”
Markus stares. Blue eyes briefly snap up to his, then move away.
“I didn’t say it was,” Markus says slowly, frowning, “Excuse me for being concerned.”
Simon scoffs. It’s quiet, but it’s there, and a sudden bubble of anger rises in Markus’s chest in response. He reaches out, pulls Simon’s book away from him and ignores the indignant noise he gets for the action.
“You’ve been acting like a brat all week,” he says firmly, “And frankly, I’m tired of it.”
“This may shock you,” Simon quips, “But I don’t actually have to act happy all the time.”
“Jesus, Simon,” Markus snaps, clenching his jaw, “Stop putting words in my mouth. I’m not saying you can’t be angry or upset, I’m just fucking asking you why.”
“I already told you.” Simon leans forward, tries to grab the book back. Markus tosses it unceremoniously to the floor.
“Why are you lying to me?” he asks, and he apparently doesn’t hide his confusion and hurt well enough this time because Simon pauses, eyes finally meeting his.
“Markus,” he says then, taking a slow breath, and some of the exasperation ebbs away as he lowers his voice, “It’s really not that big of a deal. Just leave me alone, please.”
“I’ve been leaving you alone all week,” Markus persists, “Si, just-”
“So you can leave me alone all fucking week but not now? Shit, if you need a fucking reason you can call Connor! God knows you have plenty of time to spend with him.”
The words are sharp, anger flaring up and gripping Simon’s voice, pushing past gritted teeth. Markus stiffens in shock, watches as blue eyes widen and Simon moves a hand up to his own mouth, pressing against his lips.
“I’m – That’s not what I-” he tries, suddenly very quiet, “I’m sorry, I just - I need a minute.” He moves, goes to stand up, and Markus acts on reflex, hand shooting forward to grab Simon’s.
“Wait,” he says then, softly, “Stay. Please.”
Simon sits back, hunched forward and head bowed as he crosses a leg underneath himself.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he says again, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.”
For a moment, they sit there. Simon keeps his gaze fixed on the bedsheets, not pulling his wrist away from Markus’s loose grasp, and Markus just looks at him, takes in his furrowed brow and lips pressed tightly together as he plays the angry words over in his mind.
“Why would I call Connor?” he asks quietly, tentatively. Simon gives a minute shake of the head, and if Markus didn’t know him so well and if he weren’t so close, he would have missed the light blue flush that spreads across his cheeks.
The realisation hits Markus like a pile of bricks.
“Simon,” he says, “Are you jealous?”
Simon stiffens further.
“No,” he mumbles, and Markus feels himself relax, a small smile tugging at his lips as he lets out a quiet sigh of relief.
“That’s what’s wrong,” he says softly, gently, “You’re jealous of Connor.”
“I’m not,” Simon repeats, “It’s just that – I mean, you’ve been so busy, especially this past week. I’ve been trying to leave you to it, because I don’t want to bother you or seem…” He hesitates, struggling to find the word, “…Needy. Or something. It’s not a problem, shouldn’t be a problem, but you haven’t had time for anything and I just - I missed you. And you’ve been spending so much time in your office with him and-”
“And then today you saw me hug him,” Markus finishes. Simon glares resolutely at the sheets they’re sitting on, the blue tint on his cheeks slightly more prominent.
“It’s ridiculous, I know,” he says, “That’s why I wanted to be alone. Didn’t want to snap at you for no reason other than I’m stupid and overbearing. Sorry.”
“You’re not stupid or overbearing,” Markus tells him, and yes, the whole situation is a bit ridiculous, but he knows now. He knows, which means he can fix it.
“No, I am,” Simon points out, “You shouldn’t have to worry about me for something so trivial.”
“Your happiness isn’t trivial, to me,” Markus says, “I’m never going to be angry at you for feeling any type of way. I only ask that you tell me, so I can understand, so I can help you, for once.”
Simon glances at him, blue eyes uncertain and lips curled down in that way they do whenever he’s deeply unhappy with himself. He looks as though he’s about to argue, to try and convince Markus he’s not worth the aggravation, so Markus speaks up before he has the chance to.
“Connor is in love with Lieutenant Anderson,” he states matter-of-factly, “I was helping him figure that out, and giving him advice on how to act on it.”
“You mean he didn’t know?” he asks, dumbfounded, and Markus’s lips twitch as he stifles a laugh.
“He’s not exactly in tune with himself, Simon.”
“Right, but you’d think a detective prototype would see the obvious.”
“The obvious? Such as an entirely platonic - and very awkward if I might add – hug between two people who are in no way romantically interested in each other?” Markus’s tone is teasing, eyebrows raised as he offers Simon a smile. Simon tries to return it, mouth twitching at the corners, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Connor has absolutely no interest in anyone that isn’t the Lieutenant,” Markus says gently, “And even if he did – Simon, why would you think for even a second that I would have any interest in anyone that isn’t you?” He reaches up again, and this time, Simon lets him tuck that stray hair away from his face, lets him trail his fingertips down his cheek.
“I don’t know,” he murmurs, “Just. Sometimes I’m worried that – I mean. You have options, you know?”
“Options?” Markus frowns, runs his thumb across Simon’s jaw. Simon sighs softly.
“You don’t have to stay, is what I mean. Sometimes I feel like I’m holding you back. Like you may be happier with someone less…” He trails off, gestures at himself with a frustrated move of his hand. He looks away, fingers scratching at the fabric of his jeans. Markus struggles for a moment, trying to process the sudden insecurity in Simon’s tone, the worry plain in his face.
“Listen to me, Simon.” His voice wavers slightly as he says it, urgency leaking through his attempt to speak calmly, clearly, “The only person I want is you. What we have – that’s what I want. What I love, Simon. I love you. And I need you to stop thinking that there’s anything about you that I don’t want, anything about you I would change. Do you understand?”
Simon makes a soft sound, blue eyes guarded as he glances up at him, and his brows are furrowed with an uncertainty that Markus absolutely cannot stand. He shifts on the bed, leans against the footboard and grabs hold of Simon’s hips, ignoring his surprised squawk as he manhandles him until he’s sitting on his lap, knees bracketing Markus’s thighs.
“All those times I’ve told you you were mine,” Markus murmurs, tone soft as he moves a hand back up to Simon’s face, caressing his cheekbone with his thumb, “I thought it went without saying that I’m yours.”
Simon shivers, fingers squeezing slightly where they’re holding on to Markus’s shoulders, and he shakes his head, like he’s struggling to process the words. Slowly, Markus leans forward, presses a tentative kiss to his lips.
“Simon,” he whispers then, “You’re all I want. You’re all I’ve ever wanted. I’m all yours, for as long as you’ll have me.”
“Shut up,” Simon mumbles then, and Markus would admire the furious shade of almost purple that now covers his cheeks but Simon kisses him again before he has the chance to.
Markus loves Simon’s kisses. He loves that there are so many different ones, all conveying different things. He loves the ones he gets in the morning when they emerge from standby, soft, chaste greetings before he has to go on with the day. He loves the ones he gets when they’re laughing, in between inside jokes and playful teasing; the ones where Simon will press smiling lips against his and their teeth will clumsily bump together. He loves the rare ones he gets when they’re doing nothing, just lying together across a sofa; gentle brushes of lips between words during hushed conversations. He loves all of them, but as Simon kisses him now, tongue sliding across his lower lip and mouths pressing together in that familiar, shameless glide they’ve perfected, quiet noises just on the edge of desperation escaping Simon’s throat and getting lost between them, Markus thinks these kind may be his favourite.
“M’sorry,” Simon mumbles then, the words muffled against Markus’s lips, and Markus makes a quiet sound, shakes his head.
“It’s alright,” he murmurs, moving his lips to Simon’s jaw, his cheekbone, the shell of his ear, “Just listen to me.” He slides his hands under Simon’s t-shirt, pressing his palms against his hips, his lower back, travelling up his sides, and Simon lets out a shaky exhale, leaning his forehead against Markus’s shoulder.
“I need you to hear this,” Markus tells him, fingers dancing up and down his spine, drawing teasing lines into pale skin, “I need you to know how lucky I am to have you. My perfect boy.”
Simon shudders, and Markus hides his smile in the crook of his neck, grazing the skin there with his teeth. It’s one of his favourite things, watching how easily Simon unravels when Markus gives him praise, listening to how his breath hitches with every murmured affection. At first, it had scared him, to have that effect on him. To see how easily Simon trusted him, how quickly he gave in that first time, legs spreading to accommodate him and head tilting back, letting him have whatever he wanted. But they’ve built on that, talked about it at length, found a balance that works for them, and Markus knows that he can’t hurt him, that Simon would never let him do anything he’s not comfortable with. So he squeezes at Simon’s hips, revels in how perfectly they fit his hands, and sinks into that familiar feeling, that secret bubble that surrounds them whenever they’re like this, the rest of the world fading into something muted, unimportant.
“You’re mine, Simon,” he says quietly, pulling back to meet blue eyes already blown wide with want, “You’re mine, and I will never want anyone else.”
“Kiss me,” Simon whispers, and Markus does. The urgency from before is gone, the kiss calmer, and Simon makes a soft sound against his lips, hands coming down to gently tug at Markus’s shirt in a silent ask for permission. Markus gives it to him, pulls back just enough so Simon can drag his shirt up and over his head. Simon presses his palms against his chest, his hands warm and pale fingers contrasting starkly with Markus’s brown skin.
“You’re so beautiful,” Simon mutters then, doubt flickering across his features, “I shouldn’t -”
The rest of his sentence is lost as Markus presses their lips back together firmly, teetering on the edge of rough as his teeth tug at his lower lip and the air in Simon’s lungs leaves him all at once.
“Enough,” Markus says then, fingers moving to Simon’s shirt, and Simon lifts his arms automatically as Markus pulls the offending item off of him, “You don’t get to finish that sentence. You don’t get to decide you’re not deserving of something. Not here, not with me.”
“Markus,” Simon protests, but there’s no real fight behind it. Markus shakes his head again, pushes himself up and lets his weight fall forward, and Simon huffs as his back hits the mattress and Markus crawls over him.
“You’re stubborn,” Markus tells him, pressing a kiss to the hollow of his throat, “But so am I.”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re a bit of an asshole?” Simon mutters, a crooked smile tugging briefly at his lips before it disappears on a low moan, Markus’s teeth grazing his neck.
“Just you,” Markus murmurs, smiling against his skin, “But you love it, really.” He moves his lips down Simon’s neck to his chest, fingers coming up to tug gently at a nipple as his mouth covers the other, and Simon arches into the touch, keening quietly.
“You sure about that?” he asks breathlessly, his hands moving up automatically to take hold of the bars of the headboard. Markus huffs a laugh, curls his fingers around the waistband of Simon’s jeans.
“Positive,” he murmurs, “Because you’re all mine, aren’t you, pretty boy?”
Simon moans, achingly soft, and lifts his hips. Markus peels the denim down his legs, placing gentle kisses on every inch of skin he uncovers as he moves back, tugging the jeans off and dropping them on the floor. Simon’s bare to him now, never one to wear any more clothing than absolutely necessary, and Markus hums appreciatively.
“You are,” he says quietly, hands sliding up Simon’s thighs, and he pushes them apart easily, Simon opening them eagerly to accommodate him, “My good boy, always so fucking perfect. Though it seems you still need some convincing.”
Simon swallows, eyes lidded as he looks down at him, and Markus smiles, brushes his lips below his stomach, so close to where he knows Simon wants him. It earns him a small whine, his hips bucking slightly, and when Markus moves those legs over his shoulders and settles comfortably between Simon’s thighs, the shudders than runs through him is entirely too gratifying.
“Always so responsive,” Markus whispers, “I’ve barely even touched you and you’re already wet for me.”
“Fuck, Markus, don’t tease,” Simon says desperately, head falling back, and Markus laughs, low and dark.
“But it’s so much fun,” he murmurs, and Simon huffs, mouth opening on what’s sure to be another witty comment, but then Markus slides his tongue against him and anything Simon was going to say is abandoned in favour of the choked moan that spills from his lips. Markus hums quietly, laps up the slickness that has gathered there before pressing his tongue against Simon’s clit.
“Fuck,” Simon manages, and it’s a beautiful thing, to see him fall apart under Markus’s tongue. His hips stutter and his back arches until Markus has to pin his hips to the bed, the thirium-based lubricant that meets his artificial taste buds almost sweet.
“So good,” Markus says, delicately sucking at Simon’s clit the way he’s learned he likes before moving his tongue down, pushing tantalisingly at his opening.
“Markus,” Simon gasps, and he voices a long, drawn-out moan as Markus starts to slowly fuck him with his tongue, his hand pressing on Simon’s lower belly to keep him in place as he uses his thumb to rub over heated skin. Simon’s breath leaves him in little hiccupping gasps, a quiet keen pushing past his lips, and Markus’s answering moan is muffled, more felt than heard if Simon’s surprised cry is anything to go by.
“Always so sensitive,” Markus murmurs, replacing his tongue with two fingers as he pulls back and turns his head to bite at Simon’s thigh. Simon moans, bucks his hips towards him, and rewards him with a drawn-out whine when Markus takes pity on him and pushes in a third.
“Look at you, taking my fingers so well,” Markus says softly, watching the way Simon’s eyelids flutter and his head falls back against the pillows, “So good for me, Simon. I love you so much.” He curls his fingers, presses them against that spot inside that drives Simon wild, and teasingly flicks his tongue against his clit. Simon clenches down on his fingers then, blue eyes blown wide as a hoarse moan forces its way out of his throat.
“Do that again,” he says, “Markus, please, your fingers-”
“This?” Markus curls his fingers again, pushing against the spot a little harder, and Simon moans, nods desperately.
“Yes, there – Markus, your tongue, I-” he breaks off on a groan as Markus complies, flicking his tongue over the sensitive nub as he fucks his fingers slowly in and out of him, pressing and rubbing against the bundle of wires inside him. Simon’s breathing starts coming faster, short pants falling from his lips in an attempt to cool his body down, and he’s flushed blue all the way down to his chest.
“Does this feel good, baby?” Markus says, voice pitched in that low purr he knows Simon likes, “Do you like my fingers in you, my tongue on you?” He licks over Simon’s clit again, sucks it gently into his mouth as he thrusts his fingers back in, and Simon answers with a choked sob, buckling against him.
“God, you’re so beautiful,” Markus hums, curling his fingers and scissoring them inside him, “So fucking gorgeous.” He moans against him, and Simon’s so wet he’s staining his mouth, blue liquid covering his lips and chin as Markus presses his tongue against him.
“Fuck, Si,” Markus says breathlessly, twisting his fingers, and Simon moans, nails scratching helplessly at the wooden headboard of the bed.
“Are you still jealous, Si?” Markus says then, quickening the pace of his hand, fucking him fast and rough, “No one else gets this. Just you. So fucking perfect, all mine – no one else could ever come close.”
“Fuck, please, I-” Simon gasps, and his thighs are shaking, fingers gripping the bars of the headboard so tightly his knuckles turn white. Markus groans softly, rolls Simon’s clit around on his tongue as he thrusts his fingers deep and curls them upwards.
“Go on, sweetheart,” he murmurs against him, letting his voice vibrate against delicate skin, “You can come, I want you to come. Fall apart for me, that’s it.”
Simon shudders violently, back arching as he cries out. His legs shake, squeeze tight around Markus’s head, but he barely notices the pressure because slick suddenly gushes out of him, soaking Markus’s mouth and chin and dripping down Simon’s thighs. Simon whimpers weakly, eyes wide, and Markus chokes on a surprised moan, pulling back to meet his gaze.
“Did you just-?” He doesn’t finish the question, captivated by how Simon looks, cheeks flushed a deep blue and chest heaving, lips wet with saliva and blue eyes blown black.
“You’ve never done that before,” Markus whispers, “Was that okay?”
Simon swallows thickly, pushes himself up and looks down, a coarse moan escaping him as he sees the mess he’s made, sees the thirium sticking to his thighs and soaking into the sheets. Slowly, he meets Markus’s gaze.
“Simon, colour,” Markus murmurs, hand coming up to gently squeeze the man’s shoulder. Simon makes a wounded noise, rises up on his knees and rushes forward, and Markus is flat on his back before he even has the chance to process it.
“Green,” Simon breathes, lips brushing his as he straddles Markus’s waist, and then he kisses him, hard and deep and filthy. Markus lets out a shocked moan, muffled against Simon’s mouth as his hands grab Simon’s hips to steady him, and Simon whines, teeth tugging at his lower lip.
“Simon,” Markus gasps, pulling back, “Wait a second, I-”
Simon’s lips attach themselves to the side of Markus’s throat and every thought he could have had instantly leaves his mind as Simon sucks harshly against his skin. Markus cries out, bares his throat and shudders, and Simon pulls back with a popping noise, eyes wide as he stares at Markus’s neck.
“You… Your skin,” he stutters, sounding dazed, and one hand comes down to stroke over where his lips had been, “It’s… You can bruise.”
Blue eyes find his, and Markus realises in that moment that for all the times he’s bitten and sucked at Simon’s skin without ever once being able to leave a mark behind, Simon has never really tried to do the same to him.
He suddenly wants with such intensity that all the air rushes from his lungs, and all he can do is dig his fingers into Simon’s thighs and wordlessly tilt his head, staring up at him and hoping the message comes across.
It does. Simon whimpers in response, wrapping his fingers around Markus’s wrists as he ducks his head and sinks his teeth into Markus’s neck.
“Fuck.” Pain and pleasure bloom where Simon bites him, sending electrical impulses shooting down his spine and warmth coursing through artificial veins. Markus lets out a long moan, voice breaking in the middle and rendering him speechless, mouth uselessly hanging open.
“God.” Simon shivers, moans hotly against his throat as he trails his lips down and sucks, tongue soothing the sharp sting. He exhales shakily, pressing a harsh kiss to brown skin before he pulls it back between his teeth, and Markus groans, broken and desperate as he tugs one of his hands free from Simon’s grasp and moves it clumsily between their bodies, sliding his fingers against his folds. Simon cries out, bites at Markus’s shoulder as he pushes himself up slightly, letting Markus slip those fingers inside of him again.
“So good, Simon,” Markus manages, voice hoarse and edged with static, “I love you so fucking much, such a good boy for me.”
Simon whines, shifts down to suck another mark just above his collarbone, hands sliding down Markus’s sides as he rocks against the fingers inside of him.
“Please,” he whimpers, teeth tugging at the skin of his chest, sharp and bruising, “Want you.”
“You have me,” Markus breathes, “I’m yours, Si. All yours, only ever yours – fuck, don’t stop.” He throws his head back, moans throatily as Simon’s teeth scrap over his nipple, his nails digging into his skin, and God, he wants more, wants to be covered in bruises and teeth marks, wants his whole body to ache. Simon whines, hips stuttering, and then he’s pushing himself up, pulling off of Markus’s fingers and moving down, impatiently grabbing at Markus’s pants and pulling at the fabric. Markus chokes on a groan, lifts his hips and lets Simon undress him, and he’s so hard he’s leaking, thirium dripping onto his stomach as his cock springs free.
“Markus,” Simon breathes, and he doesn’t waste any time, straddling his waist and grinding down, and Markus gasps, hands flying to Simon’s waist as he ruts against him, Markus’s cock sliding between his folds and over his clit as Simon rocks back and forth, hands grabbing Markus’s forearms to steady himself. Markus groans brokenly, watching how Simon rubs his cunt against him, spreading slick all over his cock, and he’s so warm and wet and every brush over his clit draws a soft keen from his throat. He’s beautiful, head tilting back and eyes fluttering shut as he loses himself in pleasure, pleasure he’s taking for himself, and Markus digs his fingers into his waist, hips bucking upward as he loses control of himself, overwhelmed by the sight and feel of him. The movement punches a garbled moan from Simon, and he presses down harder, the friction so wonderfully intense that Markus throbs.
“Fuck,” Markus bites out, “Simon, up. I need you, I have to -” he breaks off on a moan as Simon slides over him again, the head of his cock catching at Simon’s opening, and if he’d adjusted the angle ever so slightly he’d have –
“Simon,” he says again, voice stuttering, “Baby, I need -fuck - need to be inside you.”
Simon moans, shudders as he rocks against him, and it feels so fucking good but it’s not enough, Markus wants.
He doesn’t even register saying the words. They leave his lips automatically, desperate and broken, and Simon freezes, blue eyes snapping open and locking with his. For a moment time stands still, and all Markus can hear is his own heartbeat, loud in his ears. But then Simon moves, rises up on his knees and pulling free from Markus’s grasp, wrapping pale fingers around his cock and lining it up with his cunt, and Markus barely has the sense of mind to fold his legs, feet flat against the bed and thighs pressing against Simon’s lower back for support, before Simon’s taking him inside. He lowers himself slowly, every inch of Markus’s dick swallowed by the familiar tight, wet heat of him, and he groans when Markus bottoms out, skin flush against his own.
“Si,” Markus says, breathless, moving his hands to Simon’s thighs, “God, you’re perfect. So fucking tight around my cock, look at you.” He rocks upwards tentatively, fighting the urge to just fuck into him, and Simon gasps, grinds down and swivels his hips, letting Markus rub up against his walls and press at sensitive wires protected by synthetic skin.
“So good,” he says helplessly, “Markus, fuck.”
“You’re doing s-so well, baby,” Markus manages, stammering as Simon lifts himself up and drops back down with a shout, “That’s it, fuck yourself on my cock. So beautiful like this, all for me, no one else gets to see this. My good boy, so perfect, so – ah.” A broken cry punches out of him as Simon moves, inner walls dragging against Markus’s cock and taking him deep, and sinful gasps and moans are tumbling from Simon’s lips, filling the air and mixing with Markus’s own harsh breaths. Simon’s head is tilted back, throat bared, and Markus can’t help himself, slides a hand up Simon’s chest before gently pressing his fingers against him, wrapping gently around his neck – a steady, silent pressure that Simon accepts without question. He moans weakly above him, lidded eyes finding his, so beautifully submissive even as he lifts himself and drops back down, drawing guttural moans from both of them. Markus’s nails scratch at Simon’s thighs, lightly squeezes his fingers around Simon’s neck, and his gaze is glossy, almost dazed as it travel over Markus’s face. But then it settles lower, and Markus watches already blown pupils grow larger as Simon stares at the marks he’d left behind, dotting Markus’s neck and collar bones. He sucks in a breath, locks eyes with Markus again, and there’s a silent question there, one that Simon punctuates with a slow, gentle rock of his hips. Markus swallows thickly, takes his hand away from Simon’s throat, rests it on his side.
“Go on, baby,” he murmurs, and Simon doesn’t need any more encouragement than that. He moves seemingly without making the conscious decision to do so, hands grabbing Markus’s wrists, and Markus knows he’s stronger than Simon, has used that to his advantage many times in the past, but Simon’s grip on him now is like a vice, tight and unflinching. He yanks Markus’s arms up and pins his hands down either side of his head so easily that Markus can’t stop the startled gasp that leaves him, arms flexing as he tests the grip. Simon doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does he doesn’t care, doesn’t let up, just leans forward and sinks his teeth into his neck as he clenches around Markus’s cock.
“Fuck,” Markus chokes out, fingers curling into fists and mouth dropping open as Simon sucks at his skin, and he snaps his hips up without thinking, fucks into the tight heat that surrounds him. Simon moans into his neck, moves over to Markus’s shoulder, and the sharp pain of Simon’s teeth paired with the feeling of him eagerly moving back to meet Markus’s thrusts is so good Markus groans, head tilting back to give him access as he struggles to maintain a rhythm. But Simon’s perfect, always so fucking perfect, fucks himself on Markus cock at a steady, sinful pace, lips pressing against Markus’s throat, collarbones, chest as he brings bruise after bruise to the surface of brown skin.
“Si,” Markus breathes, moans as Simon rocks down, grazes his teeth over a nipple. His hands squeeze Markus’s wrists, and he whines low in his throat, moving his mouth to the crook of Markus’s neck and laving his tongue over a bruise he’d left there. Markus makes a strangled sound, snapping his hips up and gasping as Simon stifles a sharp cry by biting down hard where Markus’s neck meets his shoulder.
“Fuck,” he grits out, “Simon, wanna touch, I-” He pushes against Simon’s grip, wanting to move his hands down to grip at Simon’s waist, his thighs, anywhere he can touch. But pale fingers tighten around his wrists, gripping them so firmly Markus thinks – hopes – he’ll bruise them, and then Simon growls, low and dark, lips brushing his ear. Markus freezes, sucks in a sharp breath, and Simon lifts himself up and drops back down, his cunt gripping his cock as he drags his teeth over Markus’s pulse point.
It’s quiet, guttural, almost snarled against him, and Markus shudders, arches his back as he rolls his hips, and then Simon bites down on his neck again and Markus cries out, whole body tensing and then melting into the sheets as he goes completely and utterly pliant.
“Please,” he gasps then, “Simon, please.”
Simon trembles, whimpers against his skin before moving back and capturing his mouth in a desperate kiss, and it’s all Markus can do to kiss back, to slide his tongue into his mouth and take, take as much as he can, pinned down by shaking fingers as Simon rides him slow, so slow, too fucking slow.
“Si,” Markus stutters brokenly, static glitching through and words muffled against Simon’s mouth, “Please, I’m yours, you know I’m yours. You’re so good, please, faster-” He breaks off on a groan as Simon complies, breath hitching as he quickens the pace, and his nails dig into his wrists as he bites Markus’s bottom lip.
“Mine,” he says again, but this time it’s timid, needy, desperate, and his thighs shake as he fucks himself on Markus’s cock, wires and cables clenching beautifully around him. Markus moans, kisses him and snaps his hips up to meet him half-way, punching a loud cry from Simon’s throat.
“Yours,” Markus gasps, “I promise, Simon. Fuck, please!”
“M’yours,” comes Simon’s voice, utterly wrecked, “You’re mine.”
A helpless moan spills out of Markus’s mouth, and then Simon pulls back, lets go of Markus’s wrists to brace himself on his thighs, pushing them down so he can lift himself up and drop back down, sharp moans tearing from his throat with every hard thrust of Markus’s cock inside him. He goes faster, back arching and head tilted back, until the room is filled with the lewd sound of skin slapping skin and Simon’s wanton keens and broken cries, and Markus can hear himself gasping, stuttering unintelligible praises as his hands finally, finally grab on to Simon’s hips, squeezing soft skin and holding on for dear life as Simon bounces on his dick.
“Markus,” Simon moans, and he looks so wonderfully debauched, lips red and slick with spit, thirium blue staining his thighs and knuckles white as he grips onto Markus’s thighs, the clear blue of his eyes foggy with lust.
“Come for me,” Markus chokes out, pushing himself up and wrapping his arms around Simon’s waist, and pale hands shoot out to clutch desperately at his shoulders, Simon’s wrecked noises stifled as he bites hard at Markus’s skin, “Come on sweetheart, be my good boy, come for me like you always do, give me what I need.”
Simon falls apart with a muted scream, teeth digging into him as he shakes violently, taking Markus to the hilt and clenching tight, and Markus follows with a groan, fingers sliding into Simon’s hair and holding him in place as his hips jerk and pleasure roars through his veins, shutting out anything that isn’t Simon’s skin against his, Simon’s mouth on his neck, Simon’s heart hammering in tandem with his own.
They collapse together, colours blurred and sounds muted as Markus pulls him close, wrapping his arms tight around him. Simon goes limp, melts into him and whimpers softly as he trembles under his palms, lips mouthing lazily at warm skin.
“So good,” Markus whispers, and Simon purrs softly, preening at the praise. Markus smiles, nuzzles at his cheek. “You’re so fucking perfect, all the time. I love you, Simon. So much.”
“Love you,” Simon murmurs, gently runs his tongue over the bite mark on Markus’s shoulder. They stay like that, clutching one another, until Markus’s breathing slows and Simon stops shivering, and then Simon moves back, blue eyes dazed and looking beautifully fucked out and satisfied.
“Gorgeous,” Markus mutters, pressing a chaste kiss to swollen lips, and Simon huffs a quiet laugh, bumping their noses together. Smiling, he trails his fingers down Markus’s neck, and Markus hisses as he strokes over one of the bruises he’d left behind.
“Sorry for mauling you,” Simon says quietly, wincing, “God, there’s so many.”
“S’okay,” Markus says, smiling wryly, “Are they pretty, at least?”
Simon laughs again, a soft chuckle that makes Markus’s chest feel warm, and then he shifts slowly, pushing himself up on his knees and making a soft noise as Markus slips out of him. Gingerly, he sits back down on Markus’s lap, hands holding on to Markus’s shoulders to steady himself.
“So pretty,” he says then, cupping Markus’s jaw and running his thumb over his bottom lip, “You look perfect.”
Markus smiles, kisses his thumb and runs his hands up and down Simon’s back in gentle motions, pressing against soft skin.
“Was that okay?” Simon asks, voice soft, and there’s a hint of nervousness there. Markus hums, smiles lazily and dispels the lingering anxiety with a tender brush of his lips against Simon’s.
“More than,” he says truthfully, “I loved it.”
Simon grins, kisses him properly, and Markus listens to his laughter as he holds him tight and flips them round, pinning Simon to the bed as he rolls on top of him and kisses him stupid.
“Mine,” Simon murmurs playfully against his lips, fingers brushing over tooth marks, and Markus chuckles, moves his mouth to his cheek and kisses the flushed skin there.
Connor barges into Markus’s office the next evening, the door banging into the wall with how aggressively it’s pushed open.
“It worked,” he says breathlessly, beaming from ear to ear as he strides into the room, “I told him and he kissed me and then-” He freezes, sentence dying on his tongue. Brown eyes stare at Markus, travel down from his face to his neck, to the bruises littering brown skin. They cover the column of Markus’s neck, down across his collarbones, peeking out from the low collar of Markus’s shirt in swirls of blue and purple and almost black.
“Hello, Connor,” Markus says lightly, offering him a smile. Simon gently pushes himself up from where he’d been leaning against his desk, takes two slow steps to stand behind him and rest his hands on Markus’s shoulders.
“Hi,” he says innocently, voice honey-sweet as he rubs his thumbs against Markus’s skin, over the marks there. “You were saying?”
“Uh,” Connor says brilliantly, LED spinning yellow, “Just that, um. It worked. So I wanted to briefly thank you – I have to go to the station, so I can’t stay.”
“I’m glad I could help,” Markus says, and Simon hums in agreement, still rubbing a thumb back and forth over the darkest hickey on his neck.
“Right. Goodbye then.”
Connor leaves with cheeks tinted blue, and Markus turns his chair around, gives Simon an unimpressed look.
“Happy?” he asks flatly, and Simon grins.
“His expression was quite fun,” he admits, and Markus rolls his eyes, pulls Simon close and gives him a quick kiss.
“You’re terrible,” he tells him, “And if you’ve scared him off for good then you’re going to find him and apologise.”
“Promise,” Simon says cheerfully, straddling his lap, his smile teasing and bright and completely unapologetic.
They finally meet Lieutenant Anderson a week later, and though Connor mostly seems to have recovered, he still can’t quite meet either of their gazes when he greets them both. They find out why a moment later, when Hank sits down in one of Jericho’s many couches and his coat shifts, revealing the dark bruise on his neck that they spot at the exact same time.
Simon gets up and leaves the room, leaving Markus alone with a confused Lieutenant and Connor with a blush high on his cheeks as Simon’s laughter echoes loudly behind him.