#riley.doc

The day has been nothing short of memorable.

Today, the Riley lineage was expanded in the form of Jude taking Simon's last name in what could be described as a minimony, an elopement in more layman's terms. A clerical witness, the walls of a courthouse, and the words of the minister at hand, recognizing them as wedded husbands, notarized after the fact and slipped into a manila envelope for safekeeping. It seemed so cut and dry from the outside, the lack of fanfare, of loved ones, but truth be told, the pair had grown impatient. Having lost so much time together, only to come back tenfold to one another? Simon would have been a fool not to marry Judas as soon as he came up with a ring to propose with. That would be a story for another time, a memory that Simon thought back on fondly, nearly daily, in thanks for where it led him now. Home. Their home. There was no carryover of the threshold in a traditional sense. Simon was beyond that noise as Jude corralled him through the front door, all but wrapped up in one another with a flurry of affections: Toothy grins and giddy giggles, nearly fumbling over one another's dress shoes in the haste of shedding the ridiculous suit jackets. The flash of Simon's flesh on the side as his nerves from earlier caused the shredding of the seam that had no time to be repaired. All so genuinely authentic, in the present. He didn't flinch at the fingers skimming the puckered skin between his ribcage; if anything, he swore it was melting the scar tissue on the spot, unwinding the sinews beneath, and returning it to its rightful places. Jude must be made of oxygen with the way his lips refuse to break away, trailing after his husband- God. His husband. The very husband who was leaving him stranded in the living room. Okay, maybe a tad dramatic, it was more like stepping away to bring their sound system to life, and Simon being huffy about it. Jude had asked this of him, a first dance as a couple. Believe him, they shared plenty of dances in their youth- but this was a proper dance. Or as proper as he could get out of Simon, the man notorious for two left feet. That was no excuse, though. Simon was going to dance with him one way or another. Even if his feet merely shuffled rather than lifted, they risked injury or shoe scuffing.

The volume knob is cranked to high, letting the acoustic spill out through the speakers, filling their home with the sound of pure love brought on by years of trial. Simon watches the way Jude stumbles, giggling softly to himself, a sound for his ears only. Not a single drop of alcohol had graced either of their tongues, simply drunk off the idea of each other. He’s not made to wait long; Jude comes back to his husband as if he needed the touch of him to continue living.

”I love you.”

Simon prays to hear those words drop from his lover’s lips for the rest of his days, drawing Jude up into a gentle hold with one hand on his hip, the other drawing up his husband’s hand into his own.

”I love you more than words.” Simon whispers it into Jude’s hairline, eyes slipping closed only for a moment, soaking it all in with a deep inhale. No matter how many years pass, he’ll never grow tired of the sound of that sweet laugh slipping through Jude’s lips, or the tendency he has to nuzzle at his chest. The music carries them, stepping carefully through the space of the living room.

It was always meant to be this way; the moment shared between just them. There was no need to perform, no need to time it. They could just be. That nuzzle to his sternum brings on a slew of memories that carry his feet along through the dance, threatening to tighten his throat with each fleeting one. For starters, Simon could remember the first time Jude had done that to him, nuzzled him like he was a prized teddy won at a state fair, when all Simon had done was console him as any other decent being would have in seeing someone they care for in distress. It had bloomed the very sparks and embers that led him to this moment in time, a butterfly effect that nobody could ever quite see coming until it was right in their faces. How late-night conversations went beyond a typical talk about training, venting about the field. They delved into more intimate moments of soul searching and spilling in his car under the stars of the quarry, half a pack of cigarettes gone and cans long since empty. Those bantering moments between sparring ended in touches that lingered just a tad too long to be seen as anything other than thoughtful once-overs when it was all said and done. That first kiss over blurted confessions in an alleyway, all due to fear of losing sight of what kept his chest warm, frustration, and seemingly being in love one-sided. God was he wrong, and lord help them both with communication in their youth. Simon can't help it, with his eyes slid shut, he swears he's young again, he'd be able to look down and see that fresh-faced Jude all smitten in his hoodie and sweats that he to this day never gave back. That is what got him, made the next breath he attempted to inhale strained, jaw clenching tight as thick droplets rolled down his cheek and curved along his chin. Despite all of this, all of what they had been through separate and together, here they were, slow dancing in the very living room that would lay host to the rest of their lives together. He feels Jude shift beneath his chin, leans just enough to catch his gaze, where he sees it written plainly. He’s remembering the same things, all those moments shared in the locker room when Price was still baby-faced, before Gaz or Johnny had even made it to basic. The countless fights, the consistent yearning. When Jude looks at him, he sees everything he’s ever lost and everything he’s ever gained. Years of pain, of enduring, all leading up to this very moment.

Simon thinks he’ll fold under the weight of that gaze, nearly takes them both down with the way his knees weaken as Jude takes his face into his free hand, bringing him down into a kiss that mingles both of their tears.

He finally has a home. right here, with the love of his life, and their child. The sob chokes up in Simon’s throat, the hand on Jude’s hip drifting to smooth over his stomach, still flat, but with time it would round out.

Being a father, now that. That was something Simon could say without a doubt, simultaneously elated and terrified him. He knew he would be better than his own father by millions upon millions of light-years, but he also grew worried about being the right sort of father. Enough of a father. Then there was the worry about his face. The scarring, that exposed set of teeth and muscle. It would eat him alive if his own child were scared of him. The worries aside, the beautiful thing about it all is that it was purely his and Jude's child. Something nobody else could replicate, uniquely a coupling of their own existences in the process of creating a new life. Not to mention the fact that Jude wanted a family with him. No second guesses involved, just a genuine want to start a family. He hoped their first one was a boy. Not that he would mind a daughter, he'd want both truthfully, he believed that having a son first would make his anxieties around having a kid in general easier since they're the same gender. If only someone had told him it wouldn't happen, it would have spared him the headache of that thought process being proven wrong. Some would say he's worrying too much, yet as he sniffled through the passes of Jude's belly, he couldn't help but think that he was worrying the normal amount for a first-time parent, and it would pay off in the long run to worry now and focus later. Simon smiles as Jude leans back just to roll his eyes, the grin stretching past those imperfect teeth of his.

”You’re so corny, Simon.”

”That’s why you married me, love.”