#bencus

"So you think I should leave it, then?" Marcus clarifies, as tiny, eager hands grab onto his hair and tug, hard.

"Henry, don't pull." Ted admonishes his son softly before raising an unimpressed eyebrow. "Yes, I think you should leave it."

Marcus brings his fingers to the child's hand and unclenches his surprisingly strong little fist. He gingerly pulls it away with, thankfully, only a few thick strands of black hair included.

"Come on, buddy, sit properly." Marcus encourages, manhandling the toddlers body so he's sat on his lap, facing Ted. His father is currently cutting slices of cucumber and carrot on the other side of the kitchen counter and Henry seems to find tugging on Marcus' collar interesting enough for now - what is it with small children and pulling on things? - so Marcus looks back up at Ted. "Are you sure?"

Marcus has to admit that being told to let it be wasn't the response he was hoping for. Marcus thought  his best friend would show a little more excitement when he recounted the epic tale of the night before and the discovery of the man he's ninety-nine percent sure is his soul mate.

It'd only taken an hour for a locksmith to come out, and a further thirty minutes for his front door to be in full working order again. After an uncomfortable goodbye with Ben - Marcus had opted for a hug and Ben for a handshake, which resulted in Ben's hand getting awkwardly crushed in between their chests - Marcus had hightailed it to Ted's, in dire need of his ever present voice of reason. Marcus can't count the number of times Ted has talked him and Winston out of impulsive decisions that, on reflection, they shouldn't have needed to be talked out of in the first place.

"Marcus," Ted says, stepping around the identical little boy sat cross legged on the floor smashing transformers together, and pulling plastic plates down from an overhead cupboard. "You broke into this guys flat, scared the life out of him, drank his beer and ate his food, kissed him, found out he had a boyfriend, and then continued to come on to him. And you actually want to carry on pursuing it?"

Marcus grimaces. Well doesn't that just make him sound like a massive douchebag. Marcus isn't that detached, no matter how much evidence Ted has to the contrary.  He knows how bad his situation looks when you lay everything out, but it was different at the time. He really fucking likes this guy.

When Ben was looking up at him through his sinfully long lashes, all doe-eyed and demure, Marcus couldn't imagine doing anything besides letting himself fall a little and kissing him. And it's not like he would've pressed Ben to kiss him if Ben didn't want to. Frankly, he finds those that constantly pester people to get with them annoying and a little bit sickening. If Ben hadn't have been responding to him like he was, all quickened breathing and wide eyes, then Marcus would've left it. He knows a lost cause when he sees one and this is not one of those times.

There was just something a bit off about Oliver. Marcus probably doesn't have the most objective standing here, but he can't shake the feeling that he and Ben don't work together in that effortlessly smooth way that couples can. Especially with them being together for as long as they have. It isn't right.

And when Marcus was with him, all he could think about was that them meeting felt like it was written in the stars.

Ted's looking at him, the bastard, waiting for a reply, even though it's clear there isn't one that doesn't make it sound like he wants to terminate a strangers relationship for his own selfish gain. Damn Ted and his indisputable logic. Marcus resigns himself to that fact that he can't find the words to describe it without saying it really isn't as bad as it looks! which is a sure fire way to make him think it most definitely is as bad as it looks.

"Well it sounds bad when you put it like that." Marcus mumbles sullenly into the mop of blonde curls in front of him, frowning at Henry's little feet.

"That's because it is bad." Ted states, an amused smirk on his face, as he arranges the vegetables on the table with the rest of the food. "Honestly, I don't know how you can't see how pushy you are sometimes."

"But he's pretty." Marcus pouts, fully aware that his voice has climbed to that whiny pitch that makes him sound like a spoilt child. After both his mother and Winston pointed out it happened whenever he got frustrated, he decided to embrace it and use his pouting power to it's full potential. Sure enough, Ted's expression softens slightly, even mixes with something close to pity.    

"I'm sure there are plenty of other pretty guys out there who'll sleep with you."

"Not like him there isn't."

Ted pauses in setting the table and looks to Marcus for a moment, his tongue between his teeth. "Are you seriously going to break them up just so you can shag him?"

"No, no, it's more than that. He-", Marcus sighs. This is proving more difficult than he thought it would be. How can he articulate something he can't even put into thoughts in his own head? He knows the sudden want he feels for Ben isn't solely about sex, but he admits he'd be more than happy to fuck him and then take it from there. The difference, for what Marcus thinks is the first time in his life, is that he would look forward to the taking it from there part just as much as the fucking part. Just from that one night he knows there's something between them, something worth exploring. He knows he'll regret it if he doesn't. "It's hard to put into words, okay? It's more than just physical. Like... I don't know, I just wanna hang out with him, sit and listen to him talk or... whatever." Marcus tries to explain. "And I don't want to break them up, thank you very much, I just... don't exactly want them to be together either."

"Doesn't matter, does it?" Ted reinforces stubbornly, making sure the rose tinted glasses are fully yanked off Marcus' face.

Marcus run a hand through his hair. "You don't get it, Ted, you didn't see him."

"I don't think I have to, mate, the facts speak for themselves. He's with someone." Ted heads for the bottom of the stairs, none the wiser of the scowl aimed at his back, then yells, "Heather, lunch is ready!"

Henry fidgets in Marcus' lap until Marcus cottons on and lowers him enough that he can scramble to the ground and sit himself at the table, his brother not far behind.

"But he's perfect," Marcus complains, defeated. And to think he was so excited about this. "And in the flat right below mine. What're the chances?"

"Next to none," Ted acknowledges as he helps his sons dish food onto their plates, "Which is why he's unavailable."

"I can't just leave it, Ted, not now that I know he's there."

"He has a boyfriend." Ted reiterates.

Marcus huffs. "You're no fun, you know that?"

"Aw, come on." Ted protests, amusement still annoyingly present in his tone. "That's not true, is it boys? I'm fun, aren't I?"

"Yeah!" Henry yells, flicking sweetcorn off the end of his plastic fork in his excitement.

"Daddy plays monsters 'nd ev'ything!" Ryan assures adamantly, through a mouthful of chewed up crisps.

"See. Monsters and everything." Ted smiles, giving a definite nod. "And are you sure you want to get involved with him? I mean, he cheated on his boyfriend. I'm pretty sure that takes him out of the running to be the angel you think he is."

Marcus' stomach twists uneasily. He hadn't thought of that. Hateful as he is, Oliver does love Ben, that much is clear, and would be heartbroken if he ever found out.  

"Just remember that, okay?" Ted asks before turning to the stairs again. "Heather, come on! Before the munchkins eat it all!"

Approaching footsteps sound from the hallway and Marcus only just has time to brace himself before three feet of  happiness barrels into him, nearly knocking him over.

"Marcus!" Heather smiles toothily up at him, wrapping her arms tightly around his middle as he sways precariously backwards.

"Hey, princess!" Marcus greets, hoisting her up onto his hip. He has to heft her up again so she won't slide down his leg, and takes a moment to debate if she's got heavier or if he needs to work out more. He indicates to the messily folded piece of paper in her hand. "What's this, then?"

"It's my cake." She says proudly, unfolding it and holding it up in front of them.

"A cake? Why would you need a cake?"

Heather whacks his shoulder playfully, smiling through her gapped teeth. "You know why!"

"Hmm," Marcus wrinkles his brow and scrunches up his nose, feigning thought. "No, no, I don't think I do. What could you need a cake for? It's not like there's a special day coming up or anything."

"Marcus!" She squirms against his side, laughing. "Stop! You do remember!"

"Nope. I don't remember anything that would need a cake. Do you, Ted?"

Ted looks up from wiping snot from Ryan's nose, puzzled. "No, don't think I do."

"Dad! Stop it!" An edge of frustration comes in to her voice. "It's my birthday next week!"

"Oh! Right!" Marcus relents as Ted makes similar noises of realisation. "That's the big event! Remind me how old you're going to be again?"

"Seven!"

"Right, right. Well, it's a wonderful cake." He places her on the floor. "Go on, go eat."

Marcus watches as the kids chow down on their lunch, absently smiling at the love and contentment that he always feels when he's around Ted's family. The shit radiates off them. Lucky sods.

It's not long, Heather is only on the fourth round of describing the dress she's going to wear on her birthday, until Marcus' thoughts wind back around to Ben.

He's definitely less giddy about the whole ordeal than when he first arrived. Part of him wants to be mad at Ted for ruining his excitement, to shake him and say "Why can't you just be happy for me?!", but the rest of him knows he's only telling the truth. Ben has a boyfriend. It's as simple as that. He's not even playing the game, let alone up for grabs.

The problem, though, is that Marcus is finding it increasingly harder to ignore the squirming of his insides whenever he thinks about Ben. That it was difficult to tamper down in the first place probably isn't helping. Or that he thinks about Ben a lot.  

Dammit, Marcus can't just let this slide. There's something good and real and potentially amazing on the table here. Ben felt it too, that's why they kissed, Marcus knows it.

One last shot. Marcus will give Ted one last chance to show him a glimmer of a real reason to pursue this. That's all he needs, just the edge of a valid justification and he will take it and run.  

"You really think I should leave it?"

Ted sighs and digs the palms of his hands into his eyes.

"I mean, this guy could be the one and you want me to forget about him?"

"He's not the one. You spent one night with him. In different rooms, I might add."

Marcus grunts and folds his arms across his chest. "You're no help-"

"Just because I'm not telling you what you want to hear-"

"I should've gone to Winston."

"Why didn't you?" Ted squints at him, "It's not like he has a family to look after while his wife is away or anything."

Marcus slumps in his seat. "Because he's set me up on another date tomorrow, hasn't he? And if I talk to him about Ben he'll get all offended. You know what he's like."

"I don't know why you don't just tell him to stop, you know."

Marcus shrugs. "Makes him happy. And more often than not I get a decent blowjob out of it, at least."

Ted rolls his eyes and fights a losing battle with a grin. "That figures."

"I was thinking about bailing on this one, actually. Saying I'm ill or something."

"Because of your neighbour?" Ted asks, annoyance rising in his voice. "Are you kidding me? Marcus, you have no chance with him."

"You didn't see what he was like with me-"

"Did he, or did he not, explicitly ask you to leave it?"

Marcus sighs. Damn Ted all the way to hell for always making so much goddamn sense. "Well-"

"Answer the question."

"Yes, he did, but-"

"No. No buts. Go on this date, get your blowjob, and move on to the next one. Let the guy live his life in peace. I'm sure the last thing he needs is you, a stranger, bursting in to it and spouting all this crap about soul mates and perfection and the bloody one."

"Dad?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"What's a blowjob?"

-*-

Marcus decides it would be rude to not at least thank Ben for letting him stay the night. And Oliver, of course, as well. His mother brought him up with proper manners after all, even if he does only remember them after breaking and entering.  Ah well, better late than never.

He decides to splash out on a fancy bottle of wine, which proves harder than he thought it would due to his somewhat limited wine-drinking knowledge. He's never strayed further than Tesco's own label, which he ordinarily buys with the goal of downing fast and getting shit faced, so it's not like he knows which ones actually taste nice. Beer and even liquor are more his forte. He must have looked well and truly befuddled whilst staring at the bottles in the supermarket aisle, as a nice young lady in a crisp white shirt and a shiny name tag comes over to offer her assistance. They decide on a bottle of Pinot Grigio that she promises him is "delicate yet sharp without being tart" to which Marcus nods and pretends he understands.  

After scaling two flights of stairs (the bloody lift is still broken) Marcus presses the doorbell of flat 2b and poses with the bottle of wine held beside his face, plastering on a cheesy grin, ready to be the picture of innocence and gratitude when Ben opens the door. There's no way he could turn that away. Not that Marcus thinks he would, what with them being friends and all, but he's just making sure.

Ben raises an eyebrow and leans against the door frame, unconcerned. "So you do know how to use a doorbell, then."  

Marcus sighs, drops his facade and the bottle of wine down to his side - goddamn this angelic bastard -  but a smile that seems to have a life of its own breaks out across his face, regardless. God, Ben really is beautiful, and he seems to be radiating the smell of butter and sugar and spice and all things nice to boot. That, coupled with his kind eyes, inevitably turns Marcus' insides into a molten mess, which is something he really should've been able to predict.  

"Would you prefer I send a carrier pigeon through the window to announce my arrival?" Marcus asks solemnly. "Or a marching band? Because that can be arranged. I know people."

Ben grins. "No, no. I just thought picking locks was more your style."

"You're never going to let me live that one down are you?"

"No way in hell." Ben chuckles. He leans his head back against the door frame, exposing the skin of his neck that is far too unblemished for Marcus' liking. Ben's eyes narrow. "And how would you get a marching band through my window, anyway? That sounds like a logistical nightmare. All those trumpets and french horns."

Marcus ignores, quite gallantly in his opinion, all the horn based innuendos that instantly pop into his head. "Well if you'd have let me finish attempting to get to my flat through it then I'd know, wouldn't I?"

"Nice." Ben nods, that adorable look of disbelief on his face again. "I like how you turned that one around on me."

Marcus shrugs indifferently. "I tell the truth."

"You can do no wrong, can you?"

"I'm practically Jesus."

"Right." Ben laughs. He straightens, and Marcus doesn't know if he imagines Ben's stupid eyes dart down to his lips - just for a millisecond - as he shifts his weight, or if Marcus' fucking feelings for this guy are making him see things that aren't there. Either way, Ben's voice is a lot softer when he speaks again and he's giving that wonderful little half smile that Marcus can't get out of his head. "Plain old doorbell it is."  

"Hmm," Marcus agrees, equally as gently. The warmth in his stomach bubbles mildly. "How boring."

They pause, simply looking at one another, content smiles on their faces. They seem to take each other in, acknowledge and appreciate the existence of the other, in the comfortable silence that lingers for a few moments. Marcus can feel his heart trying to tunnel its way out of his increasingly flushed chest.

Suddenly, he can't remember any of the conversation he had with Ted. He knows he made a decision to do something (whilst scrubbing quickly congealing rings of jam from Ted's kitchen table), but that thought has helpfully decided to be elusive right now. He definitely resolved to do something with this whole I fancy the pants off a taken guy debacle. Ultimately, Ted wasn't happy with him, that he can remember, so changes must be made. Or maybe he concluded to not do anything at all, now he thinks about it. All Marcus knows for certain is that the heat in his middle is creating smoke in his brain and if he's being honest with himself, all that really matters is the here and the now, in this doorway with Ben and his horribly unmarred skin.

Fuck what Ted thought. It probably wasn't important anyway. What could be more important than being right here, on this day, at this very moment?

Ben clears his throat and gives a minute shake of his head. Marcus wouldn't have picked up on it if his senses weren't so primed on him.

"So did you want something? Or are you delivering bottles of wine to everyone on the second floor?" Ben smiles easily. "Let me guess - It used to be water."

"Ah, no." Marcus smiles at the wine in his hand. If he looks at Ben smirking at his own joke for any longer he may just discover his inner vampire and lunge for his throat. "I'm not that good, I'm afraid. Marching bands through windows I can do, but water into wine? Haven't practised that one so much."

"Shame. Let me know when you perfect it."

Marcus holds the bottle out between them. "I got this for you."

Ben looks at it through narrowed eyes.

"You got me wine?" He asks slowly, apprehensively.

It takes a few seconds of them both staring incomprehensibly at the other, a vastly different kind of  stare than before, until the penny drops.

Ben thinks Marcus is making a move on him.

And, yes, okay, Marcus admits that, with how he was behaving before, it's not too ostentatious an assumption. And even if Ben did ask him to leave it just that morning, Marcus supposes it still wouldn't be so out of character for him to just press a little bit further, test the waters a tiny bit longer.

Despite all that, the way Ben is so suddenly on guard at the mere thought hurts. He's not so bad, is he? Taken or not, is it really that horrible to have him flirting?

With half of him feeling sorry for himself, and the other half worrying when he became so conscious of his flirting skills and other people's fucking opinions of them, Marcus can't help the small, self-deprecating laugh that slips between his lips. "Don't worry, sunshine.  It's for you and  your guy. To say thanks for letting me stay last night. And for not hitting me with your frying pan and calling the police."

The tension in Ben's shoulders visibly lessens as he smiles, which is as good as throwing a bucket of ice water onto Marcus' melted insides, solidifying them into heavy lead and bringing him back to reality.

"You know. Like friends do." Marcus can't help but add, biting back the urge to yell you kissed me back, dickhead!

"Yeah. Right. Friends." Ben replies, a little too brightly, and wraps his fingers around the neck of the bottle. "Thanks. That's great."

Marcus shrugs stiffly. "Least I can do."

Ben nods and looks to the label of the bottle, running his thumb over it and reading. The angle of his stooped head now means that Marcus can appreciate his small, straight nose and it's dusting of pale freckles in all their glory. He might as well be biting his lip and sighing like an infatuated teenager for how obvious his pining must be. Marcus also now notices how the ends of Ben's eyelashes, just where they attach themselves to his eyelids, are a gleaming golden blonde colour. Fuck, this guy must be  the son of a fucking God. And to think he'd been just one floor down for so long. All the times Ben could've been sat studying a recipe book with a cup of tea, or sweeping up crumbs from the kitchen floor - fresh from the batch of scones he just made, of course - or tutting at the loud music coming from one of Marcus' parties above him, and Marcus was completely non the wiser. It was a cruel trick of fate that decided they wouldn't cross paths before now.    

Fuck what Ted thought, fuck it all to hell. There's something here and Marcus'll be damned if he lets this slip through his fingers.

When an ambulance siren sounds outside and bounces off the plastered walls of the hallway, Marcus notices the silence they're in. The dead silence. The kind that you daren't so much as breathe in; the awkward type.

Oh, God. He's stood alone with Ben, and it's awkward.

They've been quiet for too long and Marcus is pretty sure he still has that dopey little fucking smile on his face that always seems to be there when he's in Ben's company. He shoves his hands in his pockets to stop them from fidgeting and drawing attention to himself.

Ben glances up, gives a little smile (which is just so Ben) and goes back to reading the label. This only makes Marcus more worried because there's no way that there's enough information on it to take this long to get through, which means Ben's re-reading it so that he doesn't have to actually say anything, meaning that they've run out of things to talk about and, Oh God, Ben thought he was making a move on him.

Marcus should've just left it. He should've taken last night for the one off that it was and gone on to plainly coexist with this wonderful man. He should've forgotten about repaying him, accepted it as a simple act of kindness from one neighbour to another, and sealed the most perfect kiss he's ever had between planes of glass to be kept in his memory for a rainy day or a lonely night.

Ben finally looks up and takes a deep breath, his eyes jumping back and forth between Marcus' as he looks to gear himself up to say something. His fingers have turned white where they're clutching onto the bottle and Marcus can feel his heart pounding in his ribcage.

Suddenly, Ben exhales and shakes his head at Marcus through a sheepish smile, blurting out "I'm sorry."

Marcus' eyebrows jump up. What?

"For what?"

Ben motions vaguely with the bottle. "I assumed you were... uh..."

"Flirting," Marcus fills in with an embarrassed chuckle of his own. Might as well get it out there. "No, I know, it's alright-"

"No, I shouldn't have thought-"

"It's fine, I get it-"

"It wasn't fair of me to-... I just assumed-"

"Ben, it's fine-"

"After this morning and everything-"

"Yeah, I know, don't worry about it-"

"I shouldn't have done that, really-"

"It's understandable-"

"Just with everything that's happened..."

"Yeah, I know-"

"And, I mean, I did ask you to leave it, so..."

"Yeah."

"I was just a bit unsure what you were doing there for a second, that's all."

"It's okay."

"Not that I think you would... uh, after I asked you not to-"

"I-"

"I know you'd never do that." Ben says confidently, almost sharply, stopping them rambling over one another.

He's looking up at Marcus like he really believes it, trusts that Marcus wouldn't go against his words. But his eyes are begging him, pleading with him to accept this, saying I'm sorry and please just leave this and I don't want to fall out here. He needs it to be true that Marcus won't push. And Marcus wants to. He really does want to leave it and be friends with this guy because surely it would be better to have him as a friend than not at all. Not to mention it's the right fucking thing to do.

However, there's still that stubborn little malicious section of his brain that won't allow himself to give Ben up. It's sitting on his shoulder and whispering in his ear, convincing him that he needs this, that things won't be okay if you let him be the one that got away and why are cutting you're own arm off, arsehole? That's bad for us.  

"Well," Marcus says lightly, almost under his breath like there's any chance he'll get away with it. "Never say never."

Ben's easy going look goes unmistakably strained, and his left cheek sucks in from where he must be biting it on the inside.

"In this case?" He says harshly, setting his shoulders and looking Marcus dead in the eye. "Never."

Ouch.

"You can think about it if you want." He mutters, sarcastic but hurt all the same.

"Marcus," Ben sighs, "I'm not going to have this conversation with you again, okay?"

Marcus looks to him and if he thought Ben's eyes were pleading before, they're nothing compared to how they look now, and Marcus is suddenly torn.

On the one hand, Ben looks so worried. No matter how much he's tried to cover it up with putting his foot down, the discomfort in his expression is obvious. Marcus feels something drop in his stomach at the sight of it. Part of Marcus' brain is saying stop, you've upset him, you wanker! Just leave it so he can smile again! It's making him want to do anything to get that distressed look off Ben's face, including turning on his heel, taking off down the hallway and never seeing him again.

Alternatively, that very same pleading look is telling Marcus that Ben knows there's something here to fight for. That he's trying to get Marcus to agree with what he says because he's trying to convince himself of it, too. If Marcus says he'll leave it, that they shouldn't be doing this, then Ben has no choice but to believe it. He also gets conformation that his relationship with Oliver is obviously a wonderful one. Why would Marcus want to come between them if it were? Consequently, he then has no reason to take the plunge and leave Oliver.

Then again, there's always the possibility that Marcus has interpreted everything completely wrong and Ben just wants him gone.

Bloody hell.

And so Marcus is torn, and simply stands there with his mouth hung open as Ben stares him down, all defiance and I'm not going to have this conversation with you again.    

When it becomes apparent that Marcus' powers of speech have abandoned him, Ben glances down the hall and exhales softly.

"Well," he says, turning back to Marcus, his demeanour back to bone-meltingly friendly as he holds up the wine bottle. Marcus wonders if Ben has ever read Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. "I should get this in the fridge."

"Right, yeah." Marcus manages to squeeze out.

"You could come in for a bit. If you want. I mean, Oliver's due home soon, but..."

Despite possibly having whiplash from the change in tone, Marcus feels his chest lift a little.

He should say no. Ben's just being polite, that's all. This is for him to refuse and be courteous, to respect Ben's wishes so they can both come out of it looking like decent people. But Ben's smiling again. And Marcus still has that unsatisfied feeling of having unfinished business clinging to him like poisoned ivy grows on a building.

"Sure."

If this wasn't the reply that Ben wanted, he doesn't show it. He just stands aside for Marcus to come through.

Ben's home is just as welcoming as before, perhaps more so with what look like recipe books and hand written notes spread out on the coffee table, and re-runs of That 70's Show playing on the small tv in the corner.

Marcus somehow feels out of place, big and bulky in amongst the warm flat. He feels like an intruder, and isn't that just fucking ironic. When breaking in, he felt very little remorse, but, now, when he's been invited in, saying he's uncomfortable doesn't do it justice. He's still caught in that quandary of knowing he shouldn't be here but wanting to stay with all his might, and his feet can't seem to stay still because of it.

As Ben makes his way to the fridge, Marcus watches and tries to work out what the fuck is happening. He needs to do something to get this twitchy feeling out of his bones. Where do they stand now? If he had actually wanted Marcus to leave he wouldn't have let him come in, surely, even out of politeness. He would've kicked him out on his arse. Is Ben actually giving the mixed messages Marcus thinks he is? Or is this all in his head?

It's then that Marcus realises he fucking hates subtext.

He might as well try and sort this out now. The tension and instability of it all will only torment him until he does. Patience has never even come close to being his middle name. And he knows Ben isn't as sure about this as he keeps saying.

He fucking hopes to God he's right.

"I'm confused." Marcus says.

Ben takes his hand off the handle on the fridge door and turns to him. His eyebrows have gone up his forehead and he looks intrigued, but that doesn't cover the underlying resistance that tells Marcus he knows what's going on here.

Deep breath.

"I'm confused because I don't know how you can just let this lie. There is something between us, Ben. Something... noticeable. That's the only way to put it. I don't know what it is, or how this might work out, or even if it's fucking worth it, but it's something. Something that could work. I'm sorry to do this again, I am, but... I can't just let that go."

Ben sighs and puts the bottle of wine down on the counter next to the fridge with a heavy thunk. Marcus carries on before Ben has a chance to cut in with arguments he's already heard.  

"I know that it's ludicrous, okay? I know that. But it's not everyday that I break into flats, you know." That gets a smile out of Ben, "But I did last night. And of all the people in London, it happened to be yours. On the night your boyfriend was still out. And you decided to let me stay." Marcus starts to take small steps closer to him, like someone trying to get close to a wild animal. "Who does that? Who lets a stranger that picks the lock on their front door kip on their sofa? That's crazy. But you did. You didn't even think of turning me away, did you?" When Ben only gives a small smile and rubs tense fingers over his forehead, Marcus prompts. "Did you?"

Ben leans back against the counter. Marcus hopes that was the fight draining out of him. "No, I didn't. You're my neighbour-"

"You didn't know that." Marcus continues. "I had no way to prove it. I could've been anyone. I could've pissed off with your most prized possessions in the middle of the night."

"Marcus, that's-"

"Don't stand there and tell me you can't feel it, that you didn't let me stay last night because there was something about me that you couldn't refuse." As he comes to stand in front of Ben, Marcus' stomach is in knots. This feels like the ballsiest thing he's ever done. "I don't wanna say it's fate, but..."

Ben's nerve breaks and his gaze slides to the floor. Marcus thinks that may be a good thing, that he doesn't want Marcus to see what he's thinking. He seems less tense than he was out in the hallway. Marcus hopes that's because of his words and not just because of the comfort of being inside his own home.

In a bold move, and because Marcus has always been an all or nothing kind of guy, he braces his left hand on the surface next to Ben's hip and gently takes Ben's chin between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. Now Marcus never thought he would be soppy enough to say things like "I saw galaxies in his eyes", but when Ben lets him tilt his chin so they're looking at each other, his breath is taken from him.

"Even right now." Marcus says softly, leaving only a small gap between their bodies. "Don't pretend you don't feel... something... between us, right now."

Ben's fingers are gripping tightly onto the side of the counter and his chest is rising and falling quickly but his eyes, oh god, his eyes are almost glowing, mirroring everything that Marcus is feeling. This is why Marcus can't let go. This look says I want you too. And even if he does look a little worried, the deer caught in headlights again, all that makes Marcus want to do is kiss all the concern away.

Fuck, Marcus wants him.

"I don't think I've ever clicked with someone like this." Marcus says as he softly runs his thumb along the edge of Ben's bottom lip and feels him give a little sigh against it. "We just... fit. Please don't fight it."

Gingerly, Marcus moves his hand from the edge of the counter and places it on Ben's hip. It fits just as perfectly as before. For all the trepidation in Ben's eyes, he doesn't push him away. He doesn't exactly move in to Marcus either, but he doesn't push him away, which has to count for something.

"Marcus, I...", Ben starts, but his words quickly die in his throat. After a tense moment, he gives a little breathless laugh instead. "God, I hate you."

Marcus smiles back and takes the tiniest of steps closer. "Yeah, I kind of hate me too, right now. But you know I'm right."

Gingerly, Ben's hand comes to rest on the forearm Marcus has against his hip. Marcus' heart does something close to a somersault.

Marcus dips his head, brushing his nose against Ben's cheek and letting their mouths hover in front of one another. It feels like there's a magnetic pull bringing them ever so slowly closer and closer together. Marcus much prefers this version of Ben, the soft, willing version that makes them feel like two pieces of a puzzle finally fitting together. Not to mention that being this close to him but not actually kissing is, strangely, erotic as fuck.

Ben's eyes have fallen shut. Marcus can just see the ends of his eyelashes resting on his cheeks as he places their foreheads together. God, Marcus feels like he's burning up. Ben's grip tightens on his arm as he tilts his face up ever so slightly. Their lips must only be a millimetre apart now, and Marcus is sure Ben's pulse is thudding as fast as his own. He can almost taste it.

Three sudden, loud pounds on the door makes Ben's head snap up.

"Babe, it's me! I forgot my keys!"

Marcus' blood runs cold and he glares over his shoulder at the door. Bloody fucking Oliver! Marcus had him! Just a couple more blissful seconds and they would have been lip locked!

Ben quickly pushes past him, out of Marcus' embrace, and takes a deep breath, running his hands through his hair and pulling on it. For the second time in two days, Marcus is left to rearrange himself as adrenaline rushes through him.

"Look," Ben says quickly and quietly, whipping around to face him, and with more venom than Marcus ever thought he was capable of, "I've already admitted that I feel something for you, okay, so I'm not going to do it again. But Marcus, and I need you to listen to me now, okay? I mean really listen. Whatever stupid little crushes we have somehow developed on one another, within less than twenty-four hours of knowing each other, don't even come into the question. Words can't describe how obsolete it is. It means nothing. Because I know that in the bigger picture I am meant to be with him," He points one sure finger at the door, "alright? I'm with him and I'm staying with him because he's my soul mate, and, yes, you're handsome and you're funny and you're interesting, but I love Oliver and I'm with Oliver and you can never be Oliver. Got it?"  

Marcus opens his mouth to protest but it feels like someone has their hands clasped tightly around his throat.

Oliver knocks on the door again. "Ben? You there?"

Ben takes one, deep, composing breath as Marcus blinks gormlessly at him. The world stands still. Marcus is pretty sure even the clock has stopped ticking by, holding its breath.  

Marcus wishes his brain hadn't seemed to have short-circuited, simply showing him the same error message over and over, so he could grab Ben by the shoulders and eloquently persuade him to pretend he's not in the flat so Oliver will go and find a cafe or something to occupy himself with. They still have more talking to do, this isn't how this is supposed to end. What he wouldn't give to click his fingers and transport Oliver far, far, far away. But Marcus' shell shocked body can conjure no words, and Ben's opening the front door before Marcus even has the chance to will the colour back into his face.

"If I had a penny for every time you forgot your keys, I'd be a very rich man." Ben smiles easily.

"Well hello to you to."

Marcus drags in a deep breath to try and will some feeling back into his body. He can only hope he doesn't look as dumbfounded as he feels as Oliver walks in and spots him.

"Back again?"

"Marcus was actually just about to leave." Ben supplies, "He brought a bottle of wine for us."

"Oh, that was nice of you." Oliver smiles at him.

Marcus feels a pressure build in his chest, getting the urge to snatch the bottle off the counter next to him and run out the door lest he does anything to give this suited oaf of a man something to be happy about.

"You were kind enough to help me out so..." He rushes, "Just something to say thanks."

His head is throbbing and he shoves his hands in his pockets so Oliver won't see how they're shaking. His throat is still absurdly tight and his chest feels like its cracking, caving in to him.

'I'm with Oliver and you can never be Oliver.'

Act normal, he thinks, just act normal.

"I'm more into beer myself but you seem like wine sort of people, so I hope it's okay."

"I'm sure it will be." Ben says, short and with an air of finality, though the smile on his face stays strongly where it is.

Marcus finds his eyes and sees the hard edge in them, the solid set to his jaw. He thinks that may have been his cue to go.

"Ben's a beer person, too." Oliver says.

"Oh, really?" Marcus smirks, although this bit of trivia seems bittersweet after all the words Ben just snarled at him. "Great minds think alike, ey?"

The suggestive tone goes (thankfully) over Oliver's oblivious head, but Ben's smile disappears instantly.  

Marcus decides that, yes, now is the time to take his leave before he steps over the line, if he miraculously hasn't already. Although of course there is a part of Marcus that wants one of them to slip up and for Oliver to cotton on to the sexual tension between his boyfriend and another man, he also doubts that Ben would appreciate that. He thinks he's probably so far into Ben's bad side at the moment that one more inch would lead him to fall over the edge and down into the abyss of never-to-be-spoken-to-again territory. That's the last thing he wants.

He says his goodbyes and, with one final, desperate pleading look to Ben, who looks steadily back at him, he steps out of the flat and into the corridor. The door is shut behind him with more force than he thinks is necessary.