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They lead me to believe
Topic Started: Nov 19 2017, 10:55 PM (42 Views)
Peyton Brooks
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Peyton was beginning to think he needed to switch to a different shift. One of the many aspects to hiring him, though, according to his superiors was the fact that he had honestly hadn't complained about anything. They asked him to work overnight shifts and he had said that was fine, worked better for Marc's schedule. They asked him to work twelve hour shifts, well so long as he got a break from that, that was fine. He heard complaining about how someone had got sent home because of this or that thing? He had never had a problem volunteering for more hours. He was happy to work. Hell, after being in the army for nearly twenty years, just doing the police work that they wanted was nothing. Sure sometimes things got dicey, sometimes there were robberies or fights or domestic issues, but none of that really compared to when he had been in high fight zones, when he had been looking out for mines and people with guns who knew the layout of their land better than he did. It was stressful some days, but he had looked stressful right in the face and said he would deal. At least working as a cop had given him purpose, it had given him something useful to do. Back in Chicago, it would have been murder – possibly literally if he were honest – because there were so many people there, so many crimes. This place would never be exactly quiet, but it wasn't Chicago.
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Despite that, he had to wonder if maybe he shouldn't ask for a shift change. Six in the evening until six in the morning was a long time, one he didn't mind because it seemed like in the earlier evening the town quieted down. It was just when bars started kicking people out that work became a bit more busy. It certainly wasn't a bad shift all things considered, but sometimes he missed working out in the sunshine. Sometimes he missed being able to have an evening. He missed when "dinner" didn't mean breakfast because that was when he was coming home to it. He wanted to get a full night of sleep and not have to debate between whether he wanted to do that or if he wanted to get errands done before the weekend. He wanted to take Marc out on dates, he wanted Marc to show him places he had started getting use to in Plainview. He would have liked to go up to Tulia just to visit because they had a day to do. Of course Peyton knew the grass was just taunting him with how green it was. Even if he switched, he would still be six to six, just morning rather than evenings. He would still need to go to bed at some point. And really, the schedule worked out for him and Marc, considering Marc was a bartender. At least on the late shifts, sometimes Peyton could sneak away, say he was checking the bar for drunks that got too rowdy and maybe sneak a kiss.
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He sighed as he entered the small house, unclipping his gun belt. "<b>I'm home, kid!</b>" he called out because Marc hadn't been there instantly. Maybe he was getting a little greedy with that. Marc had always been there, padding out of where ever he had been because he knew when Peyton got home. He had gotten selfishly use to being greeted with a kiss and the smell of food. He started working at the bulletproof vest. One day, he told himself, he was going to have a talk with the chief. They were a city with twenty two thousand people, did they really need to be ready for a shoot out? Granted, he knew what the chief would say – did he want to be more comfortable, or did he want to be dead because he thought he wasn't going to use it? Peyton had always believed safer was better, but it was a bit tiresome. And Marc still wasn't there. He tossed the vest on the couch, peering into the kitchen. Nothing looked like it had been touched. He ambled through the house to look into the office; Marc wasn't there playing his game that Peyton still didn't get but far be it for him to judge about that. Marc had tried explaining it to him and it was like a foreign language. He didn't begrudge Marc the time he had in it, not since he had put his foot in his mouth and made Marc feel like he had hated him.
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The last stop was the bedroom and there was a lump on the bed in the darkness. Carefully, quietly, he toed off his shoes and made his way to the bed. Marc still hadn't responded to the small noises he had made. Considering how much Marc grumbled over Peyton's snoring, he would have thought the younger man would have woken up by now. He settled onto the bed, lying on his side so he could wrap his arms around the smaller body. "<b>Hey, kid</b>" he said softly in greeting. If Marc was asleep right now, odds were good he had needed to rest. It was just strange that he <i>was</i> sleeping all ready. Maybe he should have let Marc get his rest, kept himself to the living room, but he couldn't. He nuzzled his face lightly against Marc's neck and frowned. "<b>Sweetie, you're burning up.</b>" He could feel the heat and when he shifted up so he could put a hand to Marc's forehead, it felt even worse.
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Marc Miller

Marc had always been kind of a sickly guy for most of his life. At least, that was what it felt like. He didn't know what had caused it. Ever since he was little he could always remember worrying about being sick, thinking that he was sick, being so sure he had caught this or that. His parents had just sighed and shaken their heads and said he was fine. When he was older, his friends would laugh about it. James would just quirk an eye at him and ask did he feel sick or did he think he felt sick. He was the only one who ever even asked that, honestly. And most of the time Marc was forced to admit he just thought he felt sick. It was just always how it was with him. He'd feel a tickle in his throat and he was surely getting a sore throat. He had a headache and that must mean a migraine. He had a stomach cramp and wasn't that a sign of cancer? His eyes hurt so he had to be losing vision in his eyes, maybe he was damaging them with the fake glasses he sometimes wore. He had a worse headache? He must be on his way to a stroke or a brain aneurysm. He was always able to imagine up new illnesses and new symptoms that hadn't been there. And he always knew he was being silly, yet he couldn't help it. Just like he couldn't help feeling awkward at times and he couldn't help letting himself get worked up once in awhile over stupid things. It was just a part of him that he couldn't shake.

He had been tired all night at the bar - maybe he wasn't sleeping well enough, maybe he was getting anemic - and that tiredness had just dragged along with him the entire shift. When he had left, it had stayed with him as he walked home. He had intended to do things when he had gotten home. There was always laundry to do with two people, he could pick up around the house some so that Peyton didn't have to do it. Then he could maybe cook something or find something in their fridge that they could eat for their "dinner". He liked getting home a few hours before Peyton. It gave him time to do some odd things and make food - simple though it was - for his boyfriend. Then it allowed him to be home to come and greet him when he walked through the door. That was more than just a little bit of happiness in his day, too, he had to admit. It was a not-so-subtle way of curbing some of the bad habits that Peyton had developed of walking in the door and immediately pouring himself a drink. If he was distracted, he wasn't over-indulging.

He had intended to do a lot of things. But when he had come home he had just felt more and more tired. Eventually he had given up. He had made his way into the bedroom and pulled on an old shirt and a pair of pajama pants before he had crawled into the bed. He had worked himself into the strange formation he always took when he was sleeping by himself. He practically ended up sleeping with half of his body on a pillow with his legs tucked up under him, looking like he'd gotten onto his hands and knees to crawl into bed and just never quite made it fully there. The end result was that he ended up completely smothered beneath the blankets, but he liked it that way. He liked it even more right now because he felt colder than normal. He had intended to just nap for about thirty minutes, maybe an hour. Then he could get up, make food and he would still be on time for when Peyton came home. It was only as he felt someone wrap their arms around him and pull him out of the position he was in and onto his side, a warm and solid chest at his back. "Hey," he managed to get the word out past the heavy fog of exhaustion and sleep that hung over him. He struggled out of the blankets somewhat and regretted it, giving a slight shiver at the chill. Then he felt Peyton press his face against his neck and the other man spoke and it finally seemed to click with him that Peyton was home. "Oh, is it... I didn' mean to sleep so long," he muttered the words out through exhaustion and a general haze.

He felt Peyton's hand move to his forehead and he heard the words but he just shook his head after a moment. "No, I feel fine." Just tired, was all. Tired and hazy but that happened when you got yourself tired, didn't it? You started just existing in a haze. "I was going to make you breakfast but I took a nap and it turned out to be longer than I wanted." He struggled with the blankets some more, trying to get himself untangled, trying to work himself free of Peyton's arms at the same time, trying to do two things at once and only succeeding in making things harder on himself really. "I'll go make you some food right now." Because food didn't sound all that appetizing to him at the moment and his head was pounding, too. Really, he just wanted to curl back into bed. He just wanted to sleep. Food and everything else could wait til later when he had woken up again. But he had gotten into the routine of making food for Peyton and he needed to do that.
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Peyton Brooks
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He held Marc and kept his face burrowed against the crook of his neck. Despite everything, he found that he liked being able to do this. He liked that Marc let him do this. Peyton knew that people had their own personal bubbles, knew that sometimes they didn't want their personal bubble invaded even if they were sick. Peyton wouldn't say he was a fully tactile person, he didn't live to put a hand on someone's arm or go for hugs before hand shakes. But there was something he liked about being able to curl up around someone, being able to pull someone into his arms and knowing that he would be welcomed at almost any time. It was nice knowing that Marc loved him enough to welcome him into his arms above all others. He tightened his arms around Marc's waist a little, lifting one hand so he could run his thumb over Marc's cheek. "<b>Hey,</b>" he said again, keeping his voice soft. It wasn't exactly normal for Marc to have disappeared into the bedroom or be there when Peyton got home. It was a few hours difference between them, but Marc had never said he wanted to go to bed right when he got home. Peyton always figured Marc was like him – get home and you couldn't just <i>sleep</i>, so there was a couple of hours being awake and then with Peyton coming home, he probably just did a typical bedtime for night owls. Granted, Marc had said he liked taking care of bits of the house that Peyton didn't get to – meals, laundry, general cleanliness – and that took up some time too. Peyton liked it, personally. It was domestic when he hadn't had that in years.
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Marc squirmed, that was the only word Peyton could use to describe it, to get out of the blankets. Peyton resisted the urge to just draw him back down, tuck him back in, especially when he saw the shiver work through his body. Marc's voice was particularly thick, almost with a tone that said he wasn't quite understanding of what was really happening around him. "<b>Well, you obviously needed the sleep if you didn't mean to sleep that long.</b>" Which wasn't always true. Peyton could remember when he had been in between tours, waiting to go on the next, and he had...well, he had slept a lot. He told people he was just tired from a year of being out in the field. It was more that there was nothing else to do, he didn't know what else to do. Oh, people had been <i>worried</i> and said it was a sign of depression and that he should really be aware, but it was more he had just wanted to get to the next job. None of the other signs had been there, so why should he worry? It didn't mean he was unaware of the possibility of it being out there. Marc just didn't seem like the type either. Add to it he sounded absolutely wrecked, he sounded worn out and not all there. That was the sound of a man who had <i>needed</i> sleep.
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He raised an eyebrow as Marc said he was fine. "<b>Now I <i>know</i> you're sick. You never say you feel fine.</b>" It was a light tease, the barest of ones to try and cover the concern. It was true though. Marc had come to him countless times, announcing he had this or that thing. He had sounded so <i>convinced</i> about it that Peyton had almost believed such things himself. But then it was easy for him to take a step back and just say 'let me see'. He had seen more headaches that had been called migraines than he cared to count, able to wipe them away with some painkillers, water, and sometimes food. He had heard more sore throats being getting sick than recognizing that the air had been particularly dry. Peyton had dealt with every concern brought to him with muted concern; he had never laughed Marc off or dismissed his complaints because what if they <i>were</i> real? What if Marc had complained so much about a headache and it turned into something big? Hadn't one of James' other friends had that? A headache for days and days and feeling sick and it had turned out to be a brain tumor. Peyton wasn't going to let that happen to Marc. It was just easier to accept everything as potential true until proven wrong. Not once, though, had Marc sounded awful and said 'I'm fine'. It was always something.
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"<b>I think normal people call it going to bed, baby,</b>" he teased. Or maybe they didn't, he didn't know for sure. His schedule had been so off kilter of a normal person's, he didn't know what counted for normal anymore. He sighed a little as Marc struggled to get up. Instead of letting him, he hooked his arm tighter around Marc and tugged him back down to lie in the nest of blankets. "<b>The only thing you're going to do, Marc, is lie down and rest. I am a thirty eight year old man who can make himself food because his boyfriend isn't feeling well. In fact, I'm a thirty eight year old man who can take care of his boyfriend by making <i>him</i> food for once.</b>" He shifted on top of the blankets, moving them so he could tuck Marc in at every angle. "<b>You can help me out, though, by telling me what kind of bad you feel. Throat? Head? Any and all?</b>"
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Marc Miller

The feeling of Peyton's arms around him was one that he loved. It wasn't just because he loved the other man, either, although that was a big part of it. It was that Peyton made him feel safe when he did that. It wasn't that he had spent his life feeling like he was in danger or anything. He hadn't. He could admit that, yes, he was generally nervous and unsure just due to his general awkwardness but he'd never been fully frightened. And sure, there were times where things had happened. He'd been bothered before by people. But he didn't live in constant fear, either. He'd always gravitated towards strong men, though. Look at James, look at Peyton. Sure, he'd had a few boyfriends and they hadn't been as strong and protective... but those hadn't lasted, either. When Peyton wrapped his arms around him he felt safe and secure and happy. Like he could be there forever and never once dislike it. It was a nice feeling, a comforting feeling.

He made a small noise and shook his head as Peyton said he'd obviously needed the sleep if he had slept that long in the first place. "I got good enough sleep all week." For the most part,anyways. He wasn't a light sleeper, but he equally wasn't a deep sleeper. He could sleep through a fair amount of things but other noises would jerk him out of his slumber. Unfortunately, some of Peyton's snoring counted under the latter category. So maybe he didn't always get a good night's sleep but he still generally got as much as he needed. And most of the time if he just simply gave Peyton a rough elbow or shove in the middle of his sleep he would reset or shift enough that the snoring would stop. Besides, it didn't always wake him up. It was just generally the culprit most of the times that he did wake up of late. "I think, anyways." And it wasn't like his job was particularly stressful. Oh, sure, sometimes it got tiring and exhausting when it was busy. Sometimes there were angry or crude drunks that made him uncomfortable. For the most part, though, it was an easy enough job. Not like Peyton's which probably would have left him nothing but a puddle of stress day in and day out.

"I do, too," he protested sleepily, with more than a little bit of tired grump behind the words. Didn't he go to work or go grocery shopping or clean the house all the time when he wasn't feeling well? That was just like saying he was fine, wasn't it? And really, he didn't feel sick so he was fine. He was just tired was all. Tired and with a headache, but you could get headaches from just sleeping too much or sleeping too hard. It wasn't all that surprising. Normally he was the one causing a big fuss, fretting about how sick he obviously was and Peyton was the one just humoring him and listening and pointing out things that said he wasn't as bad as he thought. Peyton wasn't normally the one that was busy worrying. That was pretty strange but he felt too muddleheaded to really pursue that line of thought too long or too hard. So he just didn't bother trying to do any of that. It would only just wear him out and frustrate him even more right now most likely. It was better to just focus on the task that he had set himself and what he should have done in the first place. It would have been smarter for him to cook something and then lie down, but he honestly hadn't been thinking overly well when he'd first gotten home. "Since when have I ever pretended to be normal," he muttered the words out. He dressed marginally different from most people in this town, his accent wasn't as thick, he preferred to spend his free time playing video games. Not the strangest of individuals but he wasn't precisely normal, either. Then again, maybe no one was exactly what you would call normal.

As he tried to get up, Peyton hooked an arm around his waist. The move was so fast he almost didn't even realize what was happening until the older man had hooked him, tugged him back to the bed and begun to tuck him in under the covers. He tried to get up, but the other man weighed more than him, was stronger than him, and he had an insanely weird knowledge (probably thanks to the military need to keep bed sheets made and tucked in tight) of how to make it so you couldn't escape from the sheets once he had tucked you into them. He made a small noise of protest as he tried to wriggle and squirm his way out of Peyton's hold and out of the blankets, but nothing was working. "I'm okay, really," he tried to protest. The effort of trying to get up, however, was far too much and he had already been tired before that. Finally he just slumped back in the bed with a heavy sigh. "Not hungry," he mumbled the words out. "Just tired. Tired and my head hurts. I guess work just wore me out or somethin'."
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Peyton Brooks
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He let his face rest against Marc's neck, just breathing him in and feeling the heat roll off of him. "<b>Just because you got good enough sleep during the week doesn't mean you didn't need the sleep right now. There are a lot of reasons to need sleep, you know.</b>" Sometimes sleep was needed when people were stressed and Marc certainly got that way sometimes. Not horribly so, but sometimes he gravitated towards it. It wasn't a big deal, it wasn't a defining character trait in Marc's personality, but it could have built up enough that he needed to shut down for a bit. Sometimes sleep was needed in the name of recovery or just because a horrible sleep schedule had persisted for so long. That had happened to him once, when he had been going from strange sleep schedule to strange sleep schedule and he had been fine for the longest time...until he had gotten home and he had needed to sleep for three days. "<b>No need to argue with the fact that you need sleep, baby.</b>" Because if Marc had needed sleep, that was by far more important than if he had only intended to nap and wound up sleeping for a few hours. The worst that Peyton could see coming of that was that it threw a small wrench into how they normally slept. They both had late night shifts, they had both learned to stay awake through the early hours of the morning and then sleep in early afternoon. One day of change wasn't going to ruin that, he was pretty sure.
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"<b>Do not,</b>" he countered with a hint of teasing. At least it made Marc somewhat predictable, at least it made him able to look at what was being said an essentially know what to believe. Peyton wouldn't say he took much at face value but when someone said they were okay, it was hard to not let them have their way about it. It was a weird thing that Marc would do. Whine and complain and fret over imagined pains, or build up hurts he had from something as small as paper cuts. But right now, lying here with him while he was clearly sick and he told Peyton he was fine. He wanted to say that Marc didn't want to bother him, but that was clearly not the issue. "<b>You've never pretended to be normal, because you all ready <i>are</i> normal. You are Marc Miller normal.</b>" Just because it was different from what everyone else did didn't make it unnormal, he knew that. He didn't think he would have loved Marc nearly as much if he had been more like everyone else. Maybe he wasn't suppose to even think that, he should have probably been thinking that Marc was amazing and wonderful no matter what he did or liked. But then he probably wouldn't have stood out nearly as much to Peyton, he might not have worked with Peyton nearly as well. Peyton liked the way Marc was and if Marc had been just like everyone else, they probably would have drifted. Marc wouldn't have wanted an army man who was away all the time, Marc wouldn't have wanted a man who was so deep in his own...nothing to actively pull him out of it. No, he liked this Marc.
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Marc was making small noises, squirming about and all Peyton could really do was roll his eyes. For someone who went on about liking how Peyton took care of him, he sure didn't seem to want it <i>now</i>. "<b>Yeah, you're okay, that's why you can't fight your way out of a sheet and few blankets.</b>" At least Marc gave in after a moment, slumping back onto the bed, though not without a mighty sigh. Peyton stroked some of his hair back, brushing it back from his head forehead. "<b>Have you eaten today?</b>" he questioned. "<b>And I mean from the last time we saw each other. Not 'yes I have' when it was the bowl of cereal you had before I left for work.</b>" Because Peyton had used that excuse to know it well enough. He had used it as a half truth when he hadn't felt like outright lying. As far as lies went, it was a decent one. "<b>Or,</b>" he exaggerated the word, "<b>you have a fever and you're sick.</B>" He ran his thumb against Marc's jaw, watching the younger man with intense eyes. "<b>I can get you some asprin and water, if you want. We might even have some tea? I don't know. I feel like I saw a pack of it make its way into our cart last grocery store trip.</b>" They always had picked up odds and ends at the store when they didn't really mean to. Peyton usually went hungry, which filled their cart with odd half meals, and Marc always debated between brands, which usually meant that both were going into the cart hesitantly because one might actually be better than the other. He wouldn't be surprised if one of them had put tea into the cart because it was supposedly healthier and better than coffee.
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Marc Miller

It was easy to just want to drift off again when Peyton's arms were wrapped around him and he felt the soft puffs of breath against his neck. That was just the normal way that they both slept and it was lulling. It was familiar and comforting. It was secure. He hadn't intended to nap, though. He hadn't intended to sleep that long and he had things to do. He had a sleep schedule that he (mostly) followed and there was still things like cooking their meal and finishing up a load of laundry. Every day things that you didn't realize you still had to do until you forgot to do them. He squirmed a little bit in Peyton's hold as the other man told him that it wasn't that big of a deal if he needed the sleep That only made him feel all the guiltier. He had made it so that he took care of Peyton. He usually had an hour or two before Peyton was heading home and he used that time to make sure he had something to come home to. Being asleep meant that he wasn't even there to greet the other man when he showed up after a long day of work. "Gonna mess up my sleep schedule," he finally just grumbled the words out for lack of a better excuse to use at the moment.

"Do too," he responded again, pressing his face against the pillow in an aggravated manner, grumbling just a little into the soft fabric as Peyton teased him. He didn't know why the older man was making that big of a deal of it. There had been many times when Marc had just sighed and said he was fine, so of course he would go to work or he would do this or that. Sure, it was always with a grudging air about him because clearly he was sick but he was fine, he could do it. It wasn't like he had never said these things before. He made a small noise of embarrassment and pleasure as Peyton told him he was already normal. He buried his face in against the pillow again for a moment. He didn't know why he reacted that way to the things that Peyton said. It was just like... he couldn't even handle the amount of happiness that it gave him. And it was always the most random things and at random times, so it wasn't even like he was being built up. He would be folding laundry or talking about a new bar trick he'd picked up or even just sitting with his headphones on playing his video game, staring intently at the screen, and Peyton would just say something about how adorable he was and it always threw him off. "I guess I'm as normal as the rest of the world," he finally mumbled out. Which was to say not really all that normal at all.

He made another noise of frustration. "I can't fight my way out because you have some secret dark magic skill you learned in the army about how to make beds and tuck sheets in so tight no normal human can ever escape them," he told the other man with another grumble. It was like no matter how hard he tried he couldn't get himself free of it. He swore he even had problems in just turning the bed down when it was time for them to finally crash. It was like Peyton had mastered some sort of way to seal and fuse the blankets and sheets to the bed. He closed his eyes as Peyton reached up to brush his hair back, just enjoying that small little touch in the way that he always did. He opened his eyes again and took a minute to think over the question that Peyton had asked. "I snacked a little at work." It hadn't been anything big, either. A small bag of chips and a few beer nuts. Then he just hadn't really wanted anything else. He hadn't been hungry in the least. "'m not sick," he protested again, knowing that it wasn't going to do any good. Not when Peyton had that look in his eyes. He gave another sigh, "Yeah, that would be good," He was an old hat at taking pills, after all. The minute he felt something coming on it was the aspirin or some vitamins or any number of things to help stave it off. He probably didn't even need the water at this point but he couldn't deny that a glass of water sounded really good right about now either. "I don't know if we have any tea," he said after a minute of trying to remember. Odds were that it had been thrown into a cart at some point. He wouldn't quite say that he was trend crazy but there were some things he paid attention to and he'd decided maybe they should have tea in the house. Everyone said it was good for you, right? And it had caffeine and it tasted good. That made it good for the both of them to have.

"'m sorry you have to take care of me when you should be relaxin'." It wasn't like Peyton had to, either. He wasn't sick. he was just a little tired. But now Peyton had it in his head that he needed to take care of him and he would. He wasn't going to get much rest or time to himself if he was cooking for himself and taking care of Marc's supposed illness. That just made him squirm all over again but with guilt rather than with an intent to get free of the blankets.
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Peyton Brooks
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For a long moment, Peyton just listened to Marc's breathing, felt his heat and his heart beat thud against his arms. It was almost enough to think that Marc had fallen asleep. Lord knew that was what Peyton did usually in the few times he was sick; just think to close his eyes to rest them and next thing he knew, he was out like a light. But then Marc squirmed in his arms and it was instinct to hold him just a tiny bit tighter. He snorted at the grumbled out words. "<b>I think your body doesn't care about sleep schedules, Grumble Marc,</b>" he teased. "<b>The only way you'll get better is if you rest.</b>" Had anyone ever managed to screw up a sleep schedule when they were sick? You were suppose to sleep more when illness hit because it allowed your body to recover, why would it screw up your sleep schedule? It just didn't really make sense to him, maybe because he had never had a very hard time sleeping. He slept like a rock, everyone told him, like when he decided it was time for bed his body just shut down because it knew. He didn't know how people could have trouble sleeping. Ignoring all of that, odds were very good that that Marc was just trying to be contrary. He didn't do it often but it was common enough that Peyton could recognize it for what it was.
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"<b>That's my Marc,</b>" he teased, "<b>Meeting every verbal battle with maturity and grace.</b>" He buried his face against Marc's neck, inhaling slightly. "<b>Baby, it's true,</b>" he said with a bit more seriousness. "<b>There's always something you're worried about. Not that's a bad thing to be watching out for yourself and getting things checked out, but whenever you actually do feel bad, you say you're okay, you're all right. That's the surest sign there ever is that you're not feeling well.</b>" It had always struck Peyton as a little odd. Why be worried about things you weren't sure were serious? Why ignore when you weren't feeling well? Maybe he should consider himself lucky because it was a way to instantly alert him to something be wrong. Not that he ever outright dismissed the problems Marc had, he always took them with reasonable seriousness until they could prove differently. "<b>You're more special than the rest of the world, certainly.</b>" At least to Peyton he was and he supposed in the end, that was what mattered. To Peyton, Marc was his entire world it felt like some days. He was more than the rest of the world, better than the rest of the world, somehow both more normal and not something that could be categorized. Sometimes he wondered if that was what it was like for every couple, sometimes he just didn't care because that was how he felt in general and he didn't care about any other couple.
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He snorted as Marc made a frustrated noise and complained that Peyton knew dark magic. "<b>Who told you about that? That was for our secrets ops that no one is suppose to know about until we decide it's time.</b>" That had to be an indicator of how unwell Marc was...or maybe Peyton really did have a skill in tucking in beds. It was just second nature to do the sharp, crisp corners of the bed; it had been taught to him day one of his army days and it had just...stuck. He didn't think they were <i>that</i> hard to get out of though. When Marc took a moment to think about how long ago he had eaten, Peyton didn't like, but at the same time, at least he was being honest. "<b>I'll have to check if we got any soup.</b>" Because Marc needed to eat, he couldn't <i>not</i> eat and at least soup had a bit more flavor than toast. "<b>Keep telling yourself that, sweetie.</b>" It wasn't unkind the way he said it, but his tone said he knew that Marc was trying to lie. "<b>I'll look,</B>" he offered. At the very least I can get you water and asprin. If we got the tea, I'll make the happen and I can get some soup on.</b>" Odds were very good that there was some in the cupboards somewhere, whether it would be good for a cold or not was another story. He didn't know enough about teas to know what was the best for any given situation, he really only knew about peppermint tea for a stomachache but everything else? He'd hope it was something that would work, that would help.
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He pushed himself off the bed, moving to put his feet on the ground just as Marc spoke. He paused, glancing over at him. "<b>Marc...</b>" He rose fully, moving to the other side so he could lean down and kiss Marc's forehead without having the temptation of curling up with him again. "<b>You have nothing to be sorry for. Being sick happens and I like taking care of you. It makes me <i>happy</i> to take care of you.</b>" And that wasn't even a lie. So Peyton didn't come home to dinner and a glass of whiskey, so he wasn't sitting down to watch some show that had been recorded...eventually he would get that. Marc was in and out of sleep all ready it seemed like. Next time he crashed, Peyton could make himself something to eat. Next time he crashed, Peyton could turn on the television at a very, very low volume. It would work out.
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Marc Miller

Though he didn't want to go to sleep, mostly because he wanted to get up and settle into his normal routine, wanted to get up and take care of Peyton, he also just wanted to stay right here. It wasn't even being tired or anything like that. It was the simple fact that when Peyton held him in his arms, Marc always felt so secure, warm and safe. He always felt like no harm at all could ever come to him. He always felt like everything was all right in the world when he was lying there and Peyton was holding him. The feel of the older man's strength, his heat, his breath against the back of his neck; it wasn't just lulling. It was the feeling of everything being right in the world, even when things might be going wrong. He made a small, irritated noise as Peyton snorted against the back of his neck and then spoke in a teasing tone. "I am not a Grumble Marc," he protested. He always felt more than a little bit ludicrous using the nickname that Peyton had come up with but he supposed he could admit that when it was being used it was usually accurate. He did have a tendency to grumble and grouse when he was feeling moody rather than anything else.

He made another small, irritated noise as Peyton continued to tease him. "You started it," he told him in response to the words, feeling pleased at the sally and a bit vindictive in using those choice of words against what Peyton was saying. Even if he hadn't been sick he probably would have chosen the words anyways, honestly. It was just the way that he usually reacted when Peyton was teasing him. They usually just rolled right along with each other with whatever they were talking about or doing. He was silent for a long moment as Peyton spoke. Deep down, he knew the other man was right. Of course he did. People were usually very self-aware of the things that they did even when they wouldn't admit to it. On the surface, though, he didn't think it was that common. Maybe he just wanted to be grumpy, though. After a moment he turned in Peyton's arms so he could butt his head against the older man's chest like a cat and just press his face there."Not all the time," he protested again, although this time it was incredibly half-hearted. He buried his face further against Peyton's chest, pushing in close as he spoke again. "You are, too. To me, you are, anyways." If the words were still a bit sullen and more than a little scratchy, well, he meant them nonetheless. Peyton was the most special person in the world, he was amazing and wonderful and Marc would never think anything less than that. Even when he was feeling grouchy he still could hardly remember a time when he'd ever not thought Peyton was something amazing.

"Well, your secret is out now," he told the older man with another grumble. At least, despite his general grouchy mood, Peyton was still in a good one himself and just seemed mostly amused at the things Marc was doing or saying. He certainly couldn't handle it right now if Peyton was in a mood of his own. Not with the way that his head was pounding right now. He made a small noise at Peyton saying that he would check if they had any soup. Food just didn't sound that appealing right now, honestly, but he knew he couldn't tell the other man that. Peyton was dead set on his eating something right now. He gave another sigh at Peyton's words, knowing he had lost the battle entirely. "'m sure we have some. We buy everything." Because they were terrible shoppers, really. Marc spent way too long comparing brands and deciding that he should get both because one might be better than the other. Peyton just bought whatever he wanted without even pausing to consider if he was actually going to eat it or use it. The end result was that their pantry and their fridge were always full of a strange assortment of things they needed, things they had wanted and then an overflow of random items that neither of them could quite remember how it got there or who had wanted it in the first place.

He gave a small whine as Peyton stood up and pulled away. When he leaned down to kiss his forehead, Marc moved his hand to grab to Peyton's own and just hold it for the moment. "I love you," he told him seriously. The need to make sure Peyton knew that had sprung on him in that moment. Peyton was so kind and putting aside everything that he wanted to do just to go make Marc some food and tea, to take care of him. "Want to just curl up with you." He wanted that more than a drink, more than tea, more than food or aspirin or anything.
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Peyton Brooks
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"<b>Sounds suspiciously like something a Grumble Marc would say,</b>" he teased. He shifted his arms around Marc, pulling him a tiny bit closer so he could kiss the other man's neck. If the situation had been different, he would have been kissing to be enticing more than anything else, he would have been kissing to tease. There was a part of him that even wanted to do that because Marc was handsome and he loved Marc...but it was because he loved Marc that he pushed that thought away. Marc wasn't feeling well and Peyton really doubted the healing power of sex when someone was sick. He was sure that out there were some "free spirits" who would talk on and on about the healing power of something so "raw" and "physical". Personally Peyton would rather use cold medication, liquids and food. "<b>Good thing it's my Grumble Marc here. I love him quite a lot.</b>" And he did. Sometimes he didn't think he quite conveyed that to Marc, sometimes he was sure that Marc didn't know just how much Peyton actually loved him. Oh he said it plenty but he didn't know if that really proved <i>anything</i>. He didn't know if that actually told Marc that he was valued and pretty closed to adored. The problem was he didn't know how to change it. He didn't know how to show he loved him more without it becoming desperate, without it becoming a thing where he seemed like he was trying to prove it for the sake of proving it.
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He chuckled slightly as Marc said he started it and pressed a kiss to the younger man's temple. "<b>Okay, I'll end it, all right?</b>" he said easily. One thing he didn't want was Marc getting worked up, even if Peyton was only teasing with him. He didn't know if he could be considered an expert on Marc just yet or ever would be, but he figured to just keep poking at him would be enough to rile him. It would with anyone else really, too. It didn't matter if it was just teasing and Marc was pleased with it (which right now he didn't seem overly with), it was still getting him started when he needed to be resting. Marc turned in his arms, moving like a grumpy cat to butt his head against his chest. Peyton shifted, moving his arms so Marc could settle there and he could get better situated. "<b>Most of the time,</b>" he conceded. Because most of the time Marc was like that, he was sure plenty of people were like that. It wasn't exactly a bad thing, it was more that Peyton was just glad that he knew the pattern. How awful would he feel if he decided that since Marc was constantly worrying and fretting that when he finally said he was fine he was relieved? Granted, Peyton figured he would have to be a bit more blind and dumb to not notice that Marc was feeling well, but...He lifted a hand to smooth through Marc's hair, to scratch his fingers lightly through the shorter strands. "<b>I'm glad you think so. That makes me happy.</b>" Because he wanted to matter to Marc, he wanted to be loved by Marc, he wanted Marc to think he was special too because they loved each other.
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When Marc said his secret was out now, he let out a long, long sigh sigh. "<b>Well, this is quite the predicament because they told me if anyone found out, I would have to kill them.</b>" He shook his head. "<b>Guess we better back our things and get ready to live our lives on the run from the government because I'm not losing the man I love in the name of my country.</b>" Which was a surprising thing to know he meant. When he had been young, he had thought his country was always right. He had thought that his country was good and anyone that hurt them were bad, that people who complained were bad. As he got older, he could admit to the flaws but inherently they were still good. The few times he had dated during his breaks from the army, the dates had wound up ending early because people had asked teasingly if he would go against his country for them. The answer had always been no and they had been mad; it didn't matter that realistically speaking it wouldn't happen, but Peyton loved his country. But now? Now he was pretty sure he loved Marc more than that."<b>We really do. One day we're going to have to sit down and actually make a list in comparison to meals we want. A very detailed list.</b>" Peyton could admit he was usually a shopper without a list. He wandered up an aisle then the next, picking out things he thought looked good. Plenty of frozen pre-made meals and stuff to make sandwiches, but there was always some random aspect that he always went 'I would love to make' without getting other components. Like getting garlic bread because spaghetti and meatballs sounded great, only to get home and realize he didn't have spaghetti or sauce.
<p>
When Marc made his whine, it was almost enough to have Peyton dropping down again to cuddle up to him again. He hated that sound, he didn't want Marc making it, but it was only steely resolve and the knowledge that he needed to get Marc stuff that kept him from doing it. He squeezed Marc's hand as the younger man grabbed his. "<b>I love you, baby, more than anyone ever before and more than anything.</b>" He said that as seriously as Marc had said that to him because it was true and he knew Marc deserved to hear it. He lifted Marc's hand, kissing it gently. "<b>I'll heat up some stuff for you and I'll be back in less than fifteen minutes,</b>" he hoped that was all it took anyway. "<b>When I get back, we can curl up together again, okay?</b>" Because he wanted that more than anything too. It was just better if they at least had access to things that Marc would need eventually, even if he didn't particularly want them right now.
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Marc Miller

"You could apply that to anything and it could technically be both right and wrong," Marc told him with another grumble. It was hard to be actually mad, though. Not when Peyton was wrapping his arms around him tighter, pulling him back against his body, kissing at him. Peyton always managed to make him feel warm and safe. Even when he was grouchy, he still generally managed to feel content once Peyton had his arms around him. There were times, of course, where they clashed and one or both of them wanted space but... Marc usually found his comfort here. He shifted just a little as Peyton kissed his neck. If the older man kept that up, Marc might temporarily forget his pounding head and general lethargy in favor of letting Peyton sweep him off of his feet. The problem with that was that it seemed like too much effort - which was a rarity for him, honestly - and also that Peyton had stopped. That meant he wasn't going to be pursuing it. Marc wasn't sure if he should feel pleased or upset and settled on just being content for the time being. He gave a small noise, something like a mixture of a purr and a pleased little whine as Peyton said that he loved him quite a lot. Marc would never get tired of hearing that, he was certain. He had yet to get used to it. Every single time he heard it, his gut squirmed with so much happiness he could hardly even bear it. "It takes a lot of patience to love Grumble Marcs," was all he said, burying his face into the pillow for the moment, unable to fully stem his embarrassment or his pleasure.

When Peyton leaned in and pressed a kiss to his temple and pretty much accepted the blame for the... well, he supposed you couldn't call it a fight. It wasn't. It was more just Marc getting grouchy than a fight. But Peyton took the blame for starting it and Marc felt the fight go out of him. Not that he ever usually had much fight to begin with. Gabi, James and Peyton had all expressed their concerns about how easily Marc let others push at him and even walk all over him at times. Marc protested that he could and did stand up for himself, he just found it hard. And in situations like this... well, it was easy to just let the fight run out of him because he was tired and he didn't want to fight because Peyton had ended it. There was no need for him to stand up for himself in the face of that. He made a small little noise, another little whine combined with a grouchy little noise when Peyton said most of the time. It was a concession on both of their parts and Marc just decided to let it go. He didn't want to get into an argument. He just wanted to lie here in Peyton's arms instead. He nuzzled up under the other man's chin, pressing in close against him. "Always did, always will," he half-mumbled the words out as he nuzzled against the other man.

"Nooooo I don't want to be killed because of a bed making secret," Marc whined the words out after Peyton's heavy sigh. He paused for a moment, falling silent as Peyton said they should pack their things and live their lives on the run. It warmed him so much to hear the other man say that. It wasn't just the confession of love - Marc still got thrilled by that, but he had heard it before - but everything else. Coming from Peyton, that was a big statement. He sat up just the tiniest bit, just enough so that he could look down into Peyton's face, letting his tired eyes search over the other man's features. He moved one hand to stroke a tiny bit of hair back from Peyton's face. "You'd really do that, baby?" He couldn't quite bring himself to specifically ask if Peyton would run from the government and country he'd served, if he'd defy them and become a traitor, just for Marc. But the question was there beneath the rest and he was sure that Peyton heard it. After a second he settled back into Peyton's arms. He felt himself already beginning to drift again, even though he didn't want to. He wanted to be awake. He wanted to talk to Peyton, look at him, be able to know that he was being held by him. He wanted to get up, make him food, talk and laugh and do all the things he normally did. Instead he mostly started to drift until Peyton spoke again. Marc gave a tiny snort at that. "We'll never do that, baby, and you know it." Because while they should, they both just didn't think about grocery shopping in advance. It was acknowledge as a thing they usually did on their days off together but past that? They didn't do much to stabilize it. And even if they did make a list, Marc would still debate over brands and Peyton would probably still grab extra items that he decided he wanted right then and there. They were never going to be good shoppers, really.

"I just... love you," he said again, simply. He was never jealous of past relationships that Peyton had had.He was older than Marc by fifteen years. He was bound to have had times he was in love or thought he was in love, times where he had a comfortable enough feeling with someone else. It was just natural. Just like Marc had dated, too. None of that mattered. All that mattered was that they were together. That Peyton knew he was important to Marc. He curled his hand tighter around Peyton's when the older man squeezed his. When Peyton brought his hand up to kiss to it, Marc felt as if his heart might stop just from the sheer emotion of it. He let his fingers untangle just a little to stroke them against Peyton's cheek gently. Marc gave another small whine as Peyton said that he would be back in fifteen minutes. He wasn't going to let the matter rest and so Marc just gave a reluctant sigh. "Okay," he mumbled the words out, pulling the blanket up and over him all the way up to his neck. He burrowed beneath it, burying his face in the pillow again and breathing in the scent that was Peyton from his having recently lingered there. It was still warm, as well, and so he shifted over into the spot, letting it keep him warm and content until Peyton returned with whatever it was that he thought Marc needed.
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Peyton Brooks
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"<b>Do I get to pick which one it is? Because if I do, I'm going to say it's right.</b>" He pressed another kiss to Marc's neck. He was just grateful that Marc wasn't fighting against him harder...though if he had been fighting officially, Peyton probably would have let it go. There wasn't a point in arguing with someone who <i>really</i> didn't have an interest in being coddled or bothered when they were sick. Some people just wanted to be left alone, some people wanted to sleep until they felt better and bothering their hibernation wasn't welcomed. At least with Marc he didn't seem too put out by Peyton being overbearing. He smiled slightly as Marc almost purred at him. "<b>I have all the patience in the world when it comes to Grumble Marcs,</b>" he assured. And it was true. A lot of people had called Peyton an ox, for better or for worse. He was slow and steady, let things come after him without ever really batting an eye. He never seemed to get annoyed (unless they saw him waiting in a line that never seemed to be ending and even then, he just sighed and left it). He couldn't imagine <i>not</i> having the patience for Marc, grumbling or not. Was that what love did to someone? Surely if they weren't dating Peyton would be more quick to go 'all right, if you want to be left alone...'. But he tried not to think about that, he tried not to think about privileges and the like between friends and significant others.
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He watched Marc settle more into the bed, watching the small agitation seem to drain out of him. And Peyton was relieved. What would he have done if Marc had decided to put up a fight? What would he have done if Marc kept arguing? Probably just what he had been doing: just agreeing and settling and letting it go. He turned his head, kissing Marc slightly as Marc nuzzled under his chin. "<b>I'm glad, baby.</b>" and he was. When he had been young, he had always thought he would find <i>someone</i> to settle down with. Grow up, get married, maybe have kids. That what all grown ups did, right? Even when he had joined the army, he had thought there would be someone out there waiting for him. It was more that people didn't want to wait for a person that was deciding to be a career soldier. It was one thing to wait for a tour to end, it was one thing to have their partner go on a few tours...but a career for it? Almost twenty years as a soldier...that was a lot to ask of someone to wait around because there weren't always times in the US. He had been shipped around the entire world, it felt like. He had been sent to combat, he had been sent to military bases, people didn't have time waiting for someone to come back to that. There was only so long 'I'll wait for you' could last. Then he had burned out and he had left and he had been too despondent to think about getting back into the dating crowd. And that was when he found Marc. It had been worth the wait.
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"<b>It's what the government wants. These secrets cannot be allowed to fall into the hands of terrorists, that's how they win.</b>" when was the last time he had teased someone over these kinds of things? Maybe Tibby. Dalton had been too serious to ever joke about that, Minty had hardly been around to tease those sorts of things. Tibby was probably his closest bet to having joked about that stuff. He blinked as Marc sat up a little and looked down at him. When Marc stroked his hair away from his face, Peyton took a moment take his hand, bring it down to press to his cheek. "<b>In a heartbeat,</b>" he said truthfully. "<b>You're more important to me than any secrets I may or may not have learned in the army. You're more important than this country to me.</b>" Which he had never really felt about anyone. He believed in this country, even when he knew mistakes were being made and things had to change. He loved this place that was his home...but he loved Marc more. Marc was his boyfriend, his love, and Peyton had never felt his heart beat so hard for anything in his life. Maybe it was a bit romantic to think of them running off together just because secrets had been leaked, to label Peyton as a traitor all in the name of Marc, but it would have been a very good movie. "<b>Yes we will,</B>" he huffed. "<b>Even one time is technically making the statement true.</b>" But they wouldn't keep with it, really, because meals often depended on how tired they wear, what the day had brought, if there were errands to run, and even how how it was outside, but at least Peyton could <i>try</i> and get them on track.
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"<b>I love you,</b>" he repeated. He got the feeling they were going to go over and over that if they didn't put a stop to it. But then again, he also found he didn't mind it. Dalton had claimed that his wife repeating how much she loved him was taking all the meaning out of it but in Peyton's opinion? It was so nice to hear. Nice to hear it roll off the tongue and have someone feel it. He kissed Marc's forehead, his cheek, before finally his lips. Maybe it was a risk kissing him on the lips when he was sick, but at this point, Peyton was all ready contaminated. There was no way to fight it, so why bother? He let the kiss linger, let it stay firm and it took him a long moment to pull back. "<b>Just think of that while I'm gone and I'll be back before you know it.</b>" He watched as Marc burrowed into the bed, curling up into a cocoon, and took that as the best chance he was going to have to get to the kitchen. He was pretty sure he had never moved so fast in his life, letting the stove top turn on as he went searching for tea and soup. Thankfully the tea water came to a fast boil, soup close behind because it didn't have to be scalding. It had taken roughly that fifteen minutes that he had promised Marc, which made him feel insanely pleased with himself as he made his way back to the bedroom. "<b>Next piece of useless kitchenware we need is a tray to carry things,</b>" he told the younger man.
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Marc Miller

Marc shifted a little, reaching back to ineffectively flail his arm ineffectively at Peyton at his words. "No," he half-whined and half-grumbled out the word. "You do not get to pick which one it is." That negated the whole purpose of his statement, after all. It was hard to be too grouchy at Peyton when he wasn't all that mad at him in the first place and when Peyton kept kissing against his neck. "I'm glad you do," Marc said, honestly. He supposed that he wasn't really that difficult of a person to put up with, objectively speaking. He didn't make too much of a fuss, he was generally rather quiet and clean and he didn't have too many problems when it came to working and paying his bills and things like that. But he knew he could be needy, too. He knew he had a tendency to be hurt and withdraw easily. Maybe not exactly high maintenance but he was sure there were times that Peyton got more than a little exasperated with him. So he was glad the older man had patience for him. He hoped he always would.

"Always," he repeated in a mumble as he nuzzled in closer. From the minute they had met, Marc had been taken with Peyton. At first he had just thought the man was stunningly handsome. The longer they had talked, though, the more and more Marc had enjoyed just speaking to him and being around him. The weeks they had spent together when Peyton had been down here auditing one of the stores had honestly been some of the happiest of Marc's life. He had lived in some sort of heady daydream for the entire time. It had all come crashing down around him, of course, when Peyton had left. He had thought that he had lost his chance, that maybe Peyton had gotten tired of him, maybe even that Peyton had just been playing him - after all, he didn't even have a way to contact Peyton - but in the end he had just decided that the reality of it was that he had just been himself. He had built it all up in his head and when the fantasy came crashing down around him he had no one to blame but himself. He couldn't even be mad at Peyton at the time because they hadn't promised anything. When Peyton had returned, Marc had been pissed but he had also been ecstatic. To think that Peyton would just... change his entire life based off one sentence from Marc and on their meeting.It was heady. He was glad, though. He was so glad because he wouldn't have this. He wouldn't have this strong, handsome, wonderful man and he wouldn't be lying in his arms, pressing even closer than he had before and nuzzling more under his chin. To not have that would have been the worst thing he could think of, honestly.

"I didn't know the terrorists were so into having tightly made bed corners," Marc said with a small snort. "I mean, you'd think they could just google that." It felt good to tease with Peyton. He didn't like being grouchy, especially with the man that he loved. This was more what their natural conversations were like. This was just one more reason why he had fallen in love with Peyton. He watched closely as Peyton took his hand and pulled it down to his cheek. Marc complied with the gesture, letting his hand rest against Peyton's cheek and lightly stroking his thumb over Peyton's jawline for the moment. Despite being tired, despite feeling sick, he couldn't help but to let all of his focus fall onto Peyton instead of resting or instead of lamenting how bad he felt. "Pey," he just breathed out the other man's name in a soft tone that held all the love in the world. He knew it was silly of him to get so swept up in that concept. In fact, he probably rather looked and sounded like Rosemary and James did when they got going, but he couldn't help it. It was just so romantic and he couldn't even believe he was hearing that. And sure, some of it was Peyton joking but he knew that there was a seriousness to it as well. He knew that Peyton meant it and coming from Peyton that was... well, it was a lot. He just let himself practically bury against Peyton, getting as close as he could. He gave a tiny snort again. "If we do it once I'll be amazed." Because it was always a 'let's go grocery shopping' thing rather than 'on Thursday we'll go grocery shopping'. They just did it without planning. And Marc knew they would probably save so much more time and money if they did it the right way but it just always fell to his getting caught up doing something - laundry, playing a game, cooking a meal - and then Peyton would remind him about needing to go grocery shopping. Then Peyton would get involved mowing the yard or fixing something or playing a game of his own and Marc would remind him. And then finally they would make the trip and spend hours at the store and that was if it was a day off. Days where they worked were even more hectic. It never failed. Marc really didn't see it changing now.

Marc made another small, happy noise as Peyton said that he loved him again. He didn't quite wriggle happily, but it came close. It only grew more with Peyton leaning in to kiss his forehead, cheek and lips. He almost protested that given that Peyton was so sure he was sick (so why bother kissing a sick person on the lips) but selfishly he found he was unable to. Selfishly, even if he was sick he wanted Peyton to kiss him. As the kiss lingered, he moved his hand up to tease through Peyton's hair, letting his eyes slip closed. He made a small whine as Peyton pulled back and he just sunk back into the bed more. He didn't want Peyton to leave him for any length of time but he knew that was just something that was going to happen. Peyton had his mind set on it. So Marc curled up in the warm spot vacated by Peyton and he drifted. He didn't quite doze, but he felt his mind blank out and he just stared blankly at the edge of the bed, face half-bured against Peyton's pillow. When Peyton's voice drifted back to him he lifted his head a little, letting his eyes focus again. "Is it useless if it's actually used?" he asked, his voice more than a little thick with the sleep he hadn't really drifted off into just yet. He watched Peyton come in and set the bowl and a mug down on the nightstand. Marc just shifted closer to the side of the bed, reaching out not for either of those but for Peyton himself. He wanted Peyton more than he wanted either of the other things right now.
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Peyton Brooks
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He laughed softly as Marc flailed an arm at him. It was a staple of Marc he had begun to feel. He flailed at Peyton when he did "scratchy beard", he flailed when he made the obnoxious kissing noises, he flailed when Peyton picked him up. Some might say that these were all indicators of things that Marc didn't actually like and he should put a stop to it right away, but...was it arrogant to say he felt he knew Marc pretty well by now? Was it arrogant to think he knew when Marc really didn't like something? "<b>I think it does,</b>" he teased gently. "<b>So like I said, I'm going with right.</b>" He tightened his arms around Marc, pulling him in close and just gently nuzzling against him as Marc said he was glad he had patience. "<b>It's because I love Grumble Marc almost as much as I love just Marc. Any version of Marc is a wonderful version and I am lucky to have him.</b>" And that was all true, he knew. It was all things he felt he should have been saying to Marc in the long run, sometimes he did, sometimes he didn't. Sometimes he meant to tell him more, sometimes he felt that Marc was pretty aware of how Peyton felt. Most of the time, he felt that if he said it too much, it might lose the meaning down the road and he wanted Marc to always know he was special, always know he mattered.
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Peyton wrapped his arms around Marc as the younger man nuzzled closer. "<b>I don't want you to ever doubt it...but I know how things go.</B>" Because they were both two vastly different people that had chosen to live and love together. Peyton's bland face could come off as uninterested, Marc being frazzled could just be how he happened to look rather than anything else. Sometimes in texts, they could mention something it was without a voice attached to it so it was hard knowing the context. They both made mistakes, they said things they didn't mean, they did things they didn't want to really do, it was part of being adults. "<b>But I will always be here to remind you every step of the way.</b>" And he would, he told himself. He knew they couldn't promise each other forever. Marc, at least, had a lot more years left in him. Who knew where they'd be in two years, five, or what have you. Things could drastically change, Marc could find that age when things started clicking a bit more for him and he realized Peyton wasn't the man for him. They could drift. They could could look other ways. But Peyton felt confident in thinking they'd have a long time and if nothing else, he wanted Marc to know he was loved and worth while. If they ever left this relationship, if Marc knew he had mattered and he was cared about, Peyton could be happy with that. Until that day ever arrived (which he hoped it didn't), he would make sure Marc knew anyway because he was worth so much more than he had been given.
<p>
"<b>Well they know that's how they can win. Who's gonna stop them if the army is all caught up in their beds?</b>" He gave a small, serious shake of his head. "<b>They could, but what they don't know is the American government has been sabotaging every website that details it. They'll use the bindings, but then they don't realize the soldiers can get out of it. America prevails yet again.</b>" Things felt easier now than when he had first come in the room. The first moments he had come in, it had been a stiff air because Marc had been groggy and wasn't feeling good and was upset with himself for having fallen asleep when he had other duties to do. But they had eased into it, Peyton felt. Had it been bullying on Peyton's part? He didn't think so. IT was just firmness, just letting Marc know that this was how it was going to be. He turned his head slightly so he could nuzzle against the hand. "<b>I love you, Marc,</b>" he said simply. Sometimes the words never seemed like enough. They were so basic and simple, how could they expound on how he really felt? Because he did more than love Marc, he adored him. He wrapped his arms around the younger man, curling his body over him in a way that had become natural. He wasn't sure when he had started doing it, but it was like his body instinctively thought he needed to protect Marc and the best way to do it was to shield him. "<b>We might surprise ourselves yet,</b>" he said a little defensively, but playfully at the same time. One day, he felt, they would actually get to do a grocery shopping trip proper. It was part of being an adult, right? They were all ready pretty good adults, he thought, but the idea of grocery shopping eluded him. He was pretty sure the only that made them actually plan was when they were having people over, then they had to actually discuss what they were going to have and make sure they had ingredients. The problem with that was that he didn't want to bother having guests over every night and they weren't particularly dumb people that could fool themselves every time. And really, they could only get so far with "treat it like a party".
<p>
Honestly, Peyton didn't want to part from Marc. It was something that he had noticed when they had first started dating that he felt more at ease with Marc near, especially with his arm tucked around Marc's shoulder. He always figured it was the whole "first time" dating someone new. It would fade, he told himself, they would get use to each other. But instead, he just kept on feeling like he couldn't wait to be back at Marc's side, he couldn't wait to do things with him or cuddle with him or...anything. "<b>I'll be back soon,</b>" he promised. And it was a promise he could keep because where else would he rather be when he had Marc to return to. Truthfully, he found himself hurrying through the process of making everything, using the excuse that he didn't want anything to be <i>too</i> hot to cut time in half. Whatever, he told himself, whatever he needed to do to get back to Marc's side. He gave a small huff as Marc asked if it was actually useless. "<b>I think this is the first time we've ever used it. I honestly thought it was just a weirdly shaped pan.</b>" But he had remembered it. He had remembered going out with Marc shopping for this or that odd thing because while he had moved his stuff down, there wasn't a whole lot of "house" stuff. Marc had said it would be cute and it made him happy, so Peyton had done it. "<b>I think we're cheating by saying it gets used only once.</b>" As soon as he settled the stuff down, Marc was reaching out and Peyton figured he had done everything he wanted to. He slid into the bed again, wrapping Marc up in his arms.
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Marc Miller

Marc gave a small whine that turned into a huff as Peyton first laughed at him and said that he was just going to go along with right anyways. There were a few people that Marc had run into that had seen him and Peyton together ever since Peyton had moved back down here and they had been so sure that Peyton was controlling, so sure that he just ran over things that Marc wanted. Marc had tried to explain how things were, but he didn't think he had done an adequate job. Marc had trouble saying no, that was a fact, but Marc also put his foot down about things he didn't like. If Peyton was really doing things he didn't like, Marc would complain. It might be a kind of sideways complaint if he was feeling nervous about it, but he would still complain. And as for Peyton being controlling? Marc made choices for the both of them, too. He just preferred Peyton being the one in control. He preferred letting Peyton make most of the hard choices unless he asked for Marc's help. Marc had always been someone more comfortable with another person in the lead. People on the outside didn't understand because they didn't know those things; they just saw one thing and assumed the worst. His grumbling turned into a soft sigh as Peyton nuzzled against him and the strong arms tightened around him. He squirmed just a little in Peyton's hold at the words. They didn't upset him - far from it - but sometimes he had no idea how to respond when Peyton said things like that. It was almost too much for him some days. "I feel the same way about you, baby," he finally mumbled the words out. They felt inadequate, like he was just parroting things back at Peyton, but it was the truth. Any time with Peyton, even when he was grouchy or sick, he felt lucky to get.

Marc was silent for a moment as he just continued to press even closer, nuzzling up under Peyton's chin as he just listened to the older man. "I doubt a lot of things, but that... I don't think I ever have." Maybe once in the beginning. Maybe when they had met and Peyton had left. But since they'd moved in together, since they had settled, Marc had never once doubted Peyton's feelings for him or his feelings for Peyton. If anything, they seemed to have grown stronger over their time together rather than weaker. He didn't mind the time alone that he had when he was waiting for Peyton to come home from work, the times when he or Peyton did their own thing in the same house, but he was equally happy to be practically glued to Peyton's side when those things weren't happening. "I will, too, baby," he said honestly. He knew there was no such thing as truly forever, but it didn't matter. Marc meant it. He would always be there to remind Peyton that he loved him. He had been in love from the moment that they had met, practically. He knew that things could change but, right now, he didn't think they would. Right now, he was pretty sure they were going to be this way forever and he was more than okay with that.

"Oh, well, I guess it all makes sense now," Marc muttered sleepily. "America, fuck yeah." He paused and then gave a snort of amusement at himself, at the conversation in general. He had never in his life thought he would be lying in bed with a man that he loved having this sort of conversation. He was glad, though. He was glad that they had this. He was glad that Peyton, who could appear so serious and blank and straight-laced at times, was willing to just joke around and be so silly with him half the time. And he was glad that Peyton was willing to put up with his moods enough to just deal with them until things smoothed back over to how they normally were. "I love you, too, Pey," he said, softly. He said it. He said it a lot. Was there a point in time where it became too much and yet not enough? That was what it felt like. He always felt like it should be bursting out of him constantly but he didn't want to make it so overused that neither of them believed it. He did love Peyton, though. Desperately. It was only brought even more to him when Peyton curled his body around him in the way that made Marc always curl up even smaller so he could practically burrow against Peyton and feel the strength and the warmth wrap what felt like almost all the way around him. He gave another small snort at Peyton's words. "I'll believe it when I see it," was all he said. Was it possible? Sure. They might even do it once or twice. The odds were, though, that they would just slip back into old habits after awhile and things would be just like they always were. Peyton would come hungry and not sure of what he needed to get. Marc would stand and debate in the aisles until he just decided to get both.

The one good thing about being so tired was that it was easy to not quite doze when Peyton left him alone. It wasn't quite dozing or sleeping, but it let him drift, let the time past quicker than it would had he been more awake. He was thankful for that because he didn't like Peyton being gone for any length of time right now, it felt like. He just wanted Peyton near him. He was more than a little pleased when he returned with the tray of food. "Why would you think that's a pan, baby," he asked in another sleepy murmur with a tinge of laughter to his words. It didn't look anything like a pan. It was even raised somewhat, with little spots to help stabilize it when it was sitting on your lap. Not to mention it was plastic. Not something you wanted to put into the oven at any point in time. "If it was used once it was still used." They did have a lot of useless things, though. They - or he, really - had gone a bit crazy when they had been buying things for the house. Marc would see something, decide that they had to have it because obviously everyone had this or that, and Peyton would just buy it without questioning if they even needed it. He shifted closer to Peyton as the other man slid into the bed and wrapped his arms around him. Marc wrapped his own arms around the older man, curling up against him and pressing his face against Peyton's chest with a happy little hum. It didn't matter if he was tired, sick, injured or whatever; Marc always felt better when he was curled up against the older man. "That's better," he murmured mostly to himself.
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Peyton Brooks
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When Marc whined, he couldn't help leaning in to kiss the younger man's forehead. It was like a trained in response these days. Marc whined and Peyton instantly moved in to try and soothe it. He wasn't quite sure when that happened, honestly. It was just one day he realized that that was what he did. Wasn't quite sure when it happened and wasn't quite sure if it should bother him. He didn't think it did. He loved Marc, Marc was his boyfriend and he liked the feeling he had with him, that feeling of soothing and making sure Marc was safe and happy. "<b>I'm glad,</b>" he dropped his voice some, so it was softer, maybe even a bit huskier. "<b>I always want to be the kind of man you look at and think you're lucky to have. I want to be the kind of man you look at and you see everything you fell in love with.</b>" Because that was how Peyton felt with Marc. He looked at Marc and he was just...he knew he was lucky. Marc could have never left Tulia, he could have stayed with Prosper, he could have been too busy at the bar that night that Peyton came in. God, he was the luckiest man in the world to have had things line up as they had and every time he looked at Marc that was all he could think. Every time he watched Marc play with his lip piercing as he thought over something, when he rolled around on the floor with Snickers or carried Harris in his hoodie, he fell a bit more in love. There had to be a bottom, right? There had to be a point where love just stopped growing, but he hadn't reached it yet.
<p>
He lifted a hand to stroke through Marc's hair as the younger man nuzzled under his chin. When he said that he had never doubted Peyton, a tension eased in him that he hadn't realized he had been carrying. "<b>I've never doubted yours. I just...I feel like this is the kind of love everybody talks about wanting, but...we got lucky enough to get it.</b>" He had heard many people telling tales about how love was the worst, it was such a pain or that maybe it wasn't what they expected. He had heard people say that love was a lot more compromising than they had expected. Maybe it was. There <i>was</i> an awful lot of compromise, but maybe he and Marc had gotten lucky in that their compromises were small, tiny things that weren't big for either of them. Their compromises were things like 'you like garlic bread, you like pancakes; we'll have pancakes and bacon tonight, we'll have spaghetti and garlic bread tomorrow, you don't have to eat them at the same time' or 'I want to watch this movie'. It could also be that people were just looking to complain and he hadn't exactly given them a chance to do it, he had just gone and assumed they were unhappy. He lifted a hand, running a thumb across Marc's jawline. "<b>I know you will,</b>" he said confidently. He believed in what they had, he believed that they would make things work...and he trusted that even when he was dealing with his lowest periods, Marc would come over with even just a "I'm here, we're together, we'll be together forever".
<p>
"<b>Now you're getting it,</b>" he laughed. Marc still sounded tired, like he was moments away from falling asleep but Peyton couldn't even blame the conversation on that. People had always treated Peyton like a very serious person – for the most part he was. He had been an army man for so long, it was just second nature to hold himself in certain ways, to behave in certain ways, and that in turn had made people approach him certain ways. He didn't think he could have a partner who didn't know how to unwind him. Could he date a man or a woman who didn't help him make jokes about what the army had taught him? Sure, and he would even be happy for the most part. But that sucked some of the life out of a relationship. If you couldn't have fun, what was the point? But it was like between how Peyton himself was and the people generally in his age bracket, it was time to be serious always. All right, so that probably wasn't fair (and probably what people used to date <i>wildly</i> out of their age brackets) and he probably just hadn't met the right one. He was glad he waited, glad he didn't find anyone else to fill in the "for now" position. He couldn't stop his smile as Marc said he loved him too, stroking a hand through his hair. "<b>Knowing that gets me through all my days.</b>" Because he knew at least he would be coming home to the man who loved him, coming home to the man that cared for him. "<B>See, now I have to make this happen out of sheer spite. For the good of my ego.</b>" He knew it would fail though. They had just an odd enough schedule and their personalities were just enough that doing such a thing was hard and it always seemed easier to just...go. Go to the store and get it done.
<p>
He couldn't help snorting as Marc didn't quite ask why he thought it was a pan. "<b>Look, when it's in the cupboard, you don't see everything about it. It was a flat surface, that's all I know.</b>" It had just been one more thing in their cupboards that Peyton hadn't been fully sure about what it was. There had been a lot of those in their home; little things that you didn't <i>need</i> but were helpful and Marc had wanted them. Back home, no one had trays like this; sure they had TV trays but not ones like this. There was a big host of things like that. Melon ballers, corers, zesters, tea strainers – these things that he was sure they would need if they did certain things more but for them it was useless. IT was just Marc had wanted them and Peyton couldn't see the harm in indulging it. "<b>Don't let my mom hear you say that, she'll come to our house and go through our stuff so we get rid of the things we only use once. She does it my dad constantly.</b>" Because she had never understood the point of using something just once while his father had thought it paid for itself in one use. She had always rolled her eyes and scolded him, saying he had spent this amount of money on something for only one use. Meanwhile, the kids had laughed at his plight. Peyton found he didn't care <i>that</i> much. The money was all ready spent, it would be wasteful to toss it, they wouldn't get a whole lot of money for reselling it, so they would just hold on to it. When Marc pressed in closer, he moved his hand up to stroke over his hair. "<b>It's perfect,</b>" he said easily.
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Marc Miller

Marc shifted somewhat in the bed as Peyton leaned in to press a kiss to his forehead. It was such a familiar, soothing gesture that he hardly even thought about anymore because it was just automatic for Peyton to do it nowadays. He honestly didn't even know how he had gotten through his life without the gentle touch of those lips against his forehead before all of this. It was such a familiar and automatic thing now that he couldn't even imagine now having it in his life. It always managed to soothe him. He wriggled a little bit more when Peyton spoke and his voice dropped into that lower octave. It was something that Marc loved. It wasn't just the fact that it was sexy as hell - which it was - but it was also just... full of raw emotion when he spoke that way. He could feel and hear everything that the other man was feeling when he spoke like that and Marc loved it. It just made him shift closer to the other man with a soft sigh. "It hasn't stopped happening yet," he mumbled the words out with all the love in the world. He always thought how lucky he was to have Peyton. He always sighed happily over how much he loved him. There was more than once that he had woken up or been thinking on a slow night at work and realized he could have not had this. He could have still been tied up in James. He could have been too afraid to move. He could have gone to California with Gabi. He and Prosper could have decided to stay together. There were so many little things that could have happened to prevent them from being together and God was he so happy that it had happened. He couldn't imagine how life would have been without Peyton in it. Every day he just loved him more and more, even when he was grouchy, even when he was sick, even when Peyton was having a bad day. Nothing had diminished what he felt for the man.

He made a small noise of contentment as Peyton stroked a hand through his hair and he was pretty sure if Peyton kept doing that then Marc would end up asleep. He was tired, but he didn't want to sleep. He was still fixated on the idea of getting Peyton his dinner, of doing some of the chores he had put off, and on resolutely denying that he was sick at all. "I can't think of many other people who are as lucky as we are." Maybe that was false. After all, there were plenty of couples that he knew. They were people that had worked hard to get where they were in their relationships. They were people that had just dropped into them with ease. They were people who went slow, who went fast, who never paused to think about this or that. There was a whole mixed back and many of them would probably say that they were lucky, too. This was different, though. This was... well, he hesitated to compare himself and Peyton to James and Rosemary because he adamantly did not think they were that bad. It was the closest that he could come to, however, when he wanted to describe how perfect their love seemed. "It's like... it's like we're the less cutesy and over the top version of James and Rosemary," he mumbled, turning his head some so he could press a bit more against Peyton's neck. And he knew they weren't perfect. Hell, he knew that James and Rosemary weren't perfect for all the showing off and the picture that they presented to the world. They had their problems but all of those problems just seemed small in the face of the love that they shared. "As much as I physically can," he promised. There were bound to be days where things weren't said, but Marc would always do his best to remind Peyton every way that he could how much he loved him and cherished him.

"It all makes sense now," Marc muttered. It didn't, of course. None of it made much sense at all because he was tired, his head hurt and because they were talking and joking about something that didn't actually happen nor did it really exist. He was comfortable enough despite the way that he felt to want to continue along and humor the joke, however. It was because he was comfortable with Peyton, both physically and emotionally. With Peyton, he had thought he was getting someone who was tough and in charge. Which he had, there was no doubt about that. What he hadn't expected was a man who actually was willing to unbend and joke. He hadn't expected to be playing a video game and hearing his boyfriend exclaim 'oh no my purrito' in regards to their cat. He hadn't expected a man who bought him cutesy, jokey things that he saw simply because he thought Marc would like them. He wouldn't say he expected someone like James, because James wasn't always strong and serious and in charge, either. It was just a mental picture he had built up, he supposed, of a type. If someone was so confident and strong then surely they were always serious, too. And yes, Peyton could be very serious and even had a tendency to stray towards that at times. But then he would smile, laugh and unbend in ways Marc hadn't imagined that he could when they first met. It just made him love the older man more and more each time he realized it. He made a small noise, practically a purr, as Peyton stroked a hand through his hair. "Me too, sometimes." Marc's days weren't nearly as bad as Peyton's could be, but some days you just had a bad day. Some days, it was all Marc could bear to do to wait to get home just so he could see Peyton when he walked in the door. "If you do that, I'll give you a reward," Marc told him sleepily. He probably would never have to cash that offer in, honestly. The way that they both worked meant that they would just keep doing things the same way because it was easier.

"Baby, it looks nothin' like a pan," Marc told him with all the seriousness of someone who was still tired and a little drained, just staring at the older man for a moment. So far as he was concerned, that was that. A pan was something that was made out of material that you could put on the stove or inside of the oven. That tray was most definitely not made for either of those, therefore it looked nothing like a pan in his mind. "If you get rid of something you only use once then how are you gonna use it again?" Marc questioned in the same tone. They had used the tray once. They were using it again. Therefore, it had lived up to being used more than once and would be used further in the future. It made perfect sense to him. And what if they got rid of it and needed it some day, like today? It was better to keep things like that just in case. He gave a soft sigh of pure happiness as he wiggled closer and rubbed his face a little against Peyton's shirt, as Peyton stroked a hand over his hair. "Mmm... perfect," he agreed.
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Peyton Brooks
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Peyton let his eyes slip closed as he just let his lips rest against the too hot forehead. He had never really thought he would wind up with a younger man – hell, up until he met Marc, he never really saw himself as settling down with anyone. It was always one of those vague sort of things; it was like he knew he would date someone or get married, but the person was always hazy. He never really went 'oh the woman I date is going to be like this' or 'the man I marry is going to be like that'. It was the knowledge that that was just part of being an adult. You grew up, you got a job, you got an apartment, you dated someone, you got married, you had kids...that was the life everyone was "suppose" to have. But until Marc it had never been something he thought could happen. Marc was unlike anyone Peyton had ever thought he would wind up with, honestly. He was smaller, nerdy, shy, cute rather than drop dead hunky muscled or jaw droppingly beautiful (though that was a bit of a sliding scale because Peyton thought he was). It wasn't his type at all, but he had traveled under the assumption he had never <i>had</i> a type. "<b>Good,</b>" he murmured as he pulled back. "<b>I'm going to keep working at it, so be patient with me on days I slack off.</b>" Because there would be days they argued. There would be days that Peyton accidentally hurt Marc's feelings or Marc accidentally pressed down on a mental wound that Peyton hadn't brought up from the war. There would be stupid couple spats about laundry or dishes or how Peyton was <i>tired</i> after work but damn it Marc was tired too and you saw him making an effort. There were going to be days where the "I love you"s were fewer than they were other days, there might be some days where the words were never uttered at all. On those days he thought it was the most important to remember this.
<p>
He let his hand trail through Marc's hair and then down so he was stroking his finger over Marc's cheek continually. He had always liked petting Marc, though Marc had practically cackled at the idea of Peyton treating him like a cat. He had gone pretty quiet when Peyton had pulled him into his lap that first time and told him that well of course, because after all, Marc was his kitten, wasn't he? Marc couldn't protest that. "<b>Me either.</b>" He knew a few – he knew his army buddies who had gotten themselves hitched up, he knew his partner at work who wasn't married but she loved her girlfriend and had moved in with her, he knew Minty and that man of hers she had moved to Kentucky for. They were lucky ones, he felt. He could see the love they had for their partners in their own ways. It may not have been soppy, but it was full of old familiar arguments that made them smile, moving around one another like some kind of perfected danced, making the other laugh more than they had in a long while. People seemed to think love was getting past all the hurdles completely clean, but it was more crossing the finishing line while still holding hands and being able to smile over it. "<b>Baby, everyone technically counts as the less cutest and over the top version of James and Rosemary.</b>" Marc's friend James and his wife were nice, but...but god damn, if that wasn't some crazy stuff to watch. He had never seen two people be so into each other and still be married. Those kinds of relationships crashed and burned, right? Instead, they just kept being enamored with each other. "<b>But I know what you mean. I hope we can be as in love and together as long as them.</b>" He never thought he would be using them as role models, but they had been married for five years and counting. It was impressive these days when everyone decided marriage was an easy thing to divorce. When Marc said as much as he physically could, Peyton leaned in, pressing a few light kisses against his jaw.
<p>
He chuckled as Marc said it all made sense. "<b>It's okay if you don't. Most army talk is usually pretty coded. Most civilians aren't quite in the know.</b>" It was a weird feeling in his chest that was twisting and turning. Not for the first time, he found himself grateful for having left the army. But at the same time, he realized it was kind of the first time. Ever since he met Marc, he had felt swept away in love and building a life with him. He had been focused on moving, on getting Marc moved in, on getting settled in his job, on adjusting to life with a boyfriend, on training his dog, on connecting with Marc's cat. It had always been a thought in the back of his head – he was <i>grateful</i> for leaving the army. When he had first left, it was a thing that he knew he <i>had</i> to do because he was getting burned out and worn out and he couldn't perform his job like he needed to anymore...but he hadn't been <i>happy</i> with the choice. It had been his life, what was he expected to do? He had gone back home but home had been this strange land that didn't look the same. He had gotten a job, but he had hated it with something of a burning passion. It wasn't <i>his</i> life. But being here with Marc, he was suddenly grateful. "<b>I'm glad,</b>" he said easily. And he was. Marc's job was...well, he was dealing with an entirely different sort of people at his job. There were drunks and pushy people and just people who would take insult to everything. If Peyton could help in anyway, he was happy to. "<b>What kind of a reward are we talking here? Are we talking a kiss? Because boy, if it's a kiss, it'll be more than just spite fueling me.</B>" The problem would come when it came time to execute it and he realized they would have to plan meals and check all of the kitchen to see if they had this or that. Then he would probably just say 'ah screw it'.
<p>
"<b>It looked a little like a pan,</b>" he protested. At least when someone was just trying to find something in a cupboard that had been full and removing one thing would send everything crashing down. When it was in the way, it could look like anything – a pan, a bowl, a mixer – but no one would ever believe him because they would only understand if they experienced it for themselves...and they probably didn't actually say anything about it to anyone outside of 'that's not what I wanted'. When Marc asked how he would use it again if he threw it out, he opened his mouth. No sound came out and he had to close his mouth. He thought he had a good point again, opened his mouth again, but still nothing. "<b>Look,</B>" he finally said, "<b>Look. Look, okay?</b>" When he had nothing to follow that up with, he could feel his face screw up. It screwed up into something sour and sulky because damn it, Marc had a point. They could potential use it again if they kept it, but if they didn't, it would never be used again. He settled on just settling into bed, listening to Marc's content sigh. "<b>Good, I aim to please.</b>" Maybe in a little while, he'd force Marc to get some liquids in him, but right now, this was okay, he felt.
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Marc Miller

Marc rested there in a content haze. He still felt tired - not sick, he told himself stubbornly - but there was something so wonderful about resting there with Peyton's lips still against his forehead, of the feel of Peyton being there and of his presence. Marc wasn't quite sure when that had started to happen. Somewhere along the way he had just almost instinctively begun to sense when Peyton was around and he always relaxed with that happened. It was like his brain was one hundred percent certain that so long as Peyton was there that everything would be all right. Maybe because, so far, with Peyton things had always been okay when he was there. He listened to Marc. He was a solid presence. When Marc was scared, Peyton went and protected him from whatever he was frightened of. His heart did that flip flop in his chest when Peyton continued to speak, his voice in that low timbre that Marc always loved to hear so much. He opened his eyes again, making the smallest noise as Peyton pulled back. "I'll always be patient with you, baby," he said, the words truthful. He couldn't remember too many times that he had ever lost patience with Peyton, honestly. Maybe grumpy sometimes - like today - but he couldn't remember ever being exasperated with the older man in a way that bespoke of his losing his patience with him. He knew there would be days where one or both of them might feel unloved or underappreciated, where tempers would be high, where something else might happen, but through it all he was sure things would be okay so long as they kept relatively cool heads and just worked with one another. So far, that had held true.

Marc let his eyes close again for a brief moment as Peyton stroked his fingers through his hair. Then the older man moved his hand down so he was stroking a finger over his cheek. He couldn't stop himself from making a small noise that was almost like a purr. Hell, it was a purr, really, because Marc loved the feel of it and the contentment that welled up in him with the action. "Maybe somewhere there are. Maybe somewhere there's someone even luckier than us," he tried to not sound doubtful because it might be true. Someone might have had an even better life, an even better time with their meeting and their getting together. A part of him couldn't fathom it, though, because almost everything - not quite, but almost - had seemed to just go so perfectly in their lives. Maybe that was idealizing things because they'd had issues. Everyone had issues, even James and Rosemary, but some days it didn't feel like it. Maybe that was a sign that they worked - that even when there were issues the good days were so plentiful that it felt as if they hadn't had many at all. Marc gave a slight laugh at Peyton's words. "Mm.... yeah," he said in agreement. He remembered when they had first met, when Marc had still been carrying a torch for James, how much it had hurt. How much he and Gabi had scorned and how sure they were that it was all false (even though both he and Gabi knew how James worked and had known it wasn't really false on his end). It hadn't been as cute or funny then. It had been hurtful and irritating. Now, though, it was funnier. Now it could be sweet, if strange. Marc smiled a little, turning into Peyton's touch. "We will be." He felt confident of it. James and Rosemary had been together for over five years now and they had survived a lot. If they could do it, Marc was sure that he and Peyton could , as well. Marc made another small, soft noise as Peyton peppered his jaw with feather light kisses. He reached his hand up to gently brush some of Peyton's hair away from his face, smiling at him softly, all the love that he could display in his face and his eyes for the older man to see.

"Oh, now I see. You just have this special coded language that I can't get. Is this some kind of revenge for all my tech talk, dad?" Marc teased the older man. Even when he wasn't feeling his best, he couldn't resist teasing Peyton at times and it seemed the other man was the same. He moved his hand to rest against Peyton's chest, as if he were going to push him away. He didn't, though. He just kept his hand where it was, feeling the warmth beneath it, feeling the steady thrumming of his heart beneath his hand. "Sometimes people are rude or drunk or somethin' and it's only, you know, like seven or eight at night and I just want to walk out the door but then I remember it's not so bad because I've got you and I've got the pets waiting for me at home." It made it so much easier. to know that his life was pretty good, that he had a lot waiting for him at the end of the day. Marc laughed a little at Peyton's question. "Mm... I'll give you plenty of kisses as a reward." He knew it wouldn't happen though. They were both usually too much leaning to the 'we just need to get this done' side of grocery shopping. Marc could debate over ingredients and prices once he was there but when it came to making a list and searching the pantry? It just didn't happen.

"Baby, it looks nothing like a pan," Marc said with another small laugh as Peyton protested that it had looked like a pan. Marc couldn't see it, honestly, and maybe he was just being almost a bit mean in his teasing. It wasn't like Peyton had tried to cook with it. He had just grabbed it thinking it was something else. That wasn't quite the same. He couldn't stop himself from smiling as Peyton opened his mouth and then seemed unable to come up with a counter response. Though his throat was a bit scratchy, Marc just laughed harder at Peyton's insistent words that didn't really say anything at all. "See?" he asked. All was forgotten, however, when Peyton gave in and settled on the bed. That was what he wanted more than anything else. He made a little noise of happiness, butting his head right up underneath Peyton's chin. "You always do, baby," he told him in a happy murmur.
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