The Haunted Masquerade

Salem's cheeks were bright red as Marc held him close to his side. This wasn't really what he'd imagined when he suggested watching a movie in the living room. He'd meant something more along the lines of just sitting -- maybe on separate ends of the couch, actually. But he didn't want to be an asshole and protest ... particularly when he didn't mind all that much.

Apparently Marc was watching him as he himself focused closely on the television, because he said, "If I make you so uncomfortable, just tell me to go elsewhere and I will."

"N-No," Salem rejected, feeling even more embarrassed by the fact Marc had to mention something. "Please, stay here."

"Can do, babe." Now it just sounded like Marc was teasing him. He could swear there was amusement laced in his words. Salem looked sideways with a glare at the boy next to him, but Marc was looking back with perfect innocence. So the smaller boy just rolled his eyes and looked back on the T.V. After a few moments spent in silence, Salem felt fingers twirling the tips of his black hair lightly, almost as though it was a light breeze opposed to (undoubtedly) Marc's fingers. Salem blushed lightly, trying his best not to focus on it, but the touch was so light it was one of those tickling sensations he just couldn't ignore. He shivered a little, and could almost feel Marc grinning beside him. "Salem," Marc sing-songed quietly, running his fingers lightly down Salem's neck, making him shiver again. Salem squirmed uncomfortably, trying to lengthen the distance between them. This definitely wasn't what he'd been planning to happen tonight. Or, actually, any time soon. With Marc or anyone else. However, Marc had a different idea, apparently. His grip on Salem was too secure for the boy to move away. Salem grumbled and looked over at Marc. Yep, there was that cocky look he'd been expecting to see. Nothing new.

Salem's face dipped into a frown. "Stop it. Please," he said.

"What's so wrong? We don't have to go that far."

"I don't want to do anything," Salem protested, frustrated. This was when the person would start to get pissed and annoyed. After arguing for a little while, they'd leave -- usually calling him names as they did so. "Please, Marc." He hated hormones. Fucking hated them. He wanted to tell Marc to leave, but then he thought ahead to how he'd be completely alone with Martin after him if Marc left. Why did his only source of protection have to be another cocky asshole?

The other boy sighed, clearly frustrated as well. He let go of Salem, leaning away and staring at the T.V. without really watching it. For a few moments, Salem watched Marc guiltily, feeling bad for upsetting him. Then he sighed himself and moved away slightly, curling his legs under him and leaning his elbows on them before leaning his chin in his hands. The rest of the movie finished in silence. Salem didn't want to speak and break the awkward silence with something just-as-awkward. And he swore he could feel annoyance rippling off Marc like a brewing storm. When the credits of the movie began to roll, Salem got up, nearly tripping over his feet before righting himself and turning everything off (he thought he heard Marc pull in a breath to choke back laughter). Then he returned to the couch, sitting a little further away from Marc than he had been before. He glanced at the clock. It was around one in the morning. The thought made him yawn, and from the corner of his eye he saw Marc look over at him.

"Tired?" the boy asked, finally making a break in the silence. His voice was soft, and Salem couldn't tell if it was because he wasn't mad anymore or he was trying to hide it.

"No," Salem replied. It must have sounded fake, because Marc laughed quietly. The other boy hesitantly reached out to him, and when Salem didn't make any movement either way, pulled him close again. Right into his lap, in fact.

"I'm sorry about earlier," Marc murmured, looking sincerely into Salem's eyes. Salem couldn't help but look back, and for the first time he really studied them. They were blue like his own eyes, but darker -- with an almost gray-ish tint -- whereas Salem's were pure azure. They looked like a stormy night sky or maybe the sea at the darkest hour of the day. He wished he could go on and on staring into those eyes as they stared into his, but eventually he caught himself staring and broke the eye contact. Marc cleared his throat, loosening his grip on Salem slightly. The boy made no other movements to get off Marc's lap, however. As long as Marc wasn't trying to come onto him, he actually found himself pretty content being close to him. "You should sleep -- its late."

Salem looked up again, surprised, and laughed quietly. "You sound like a parent," he answered. "I've never had another teenager tell me I should go to bed because its late before."

Marc smiled back a little, but Salem thought it was almost bittersweet. "I guess there's a first time for everything, right?" he replied, a hint of sarcasm lacing his words. Salem was concentrating more on why Marc would be offended over his words, though. What had he said that was wrong? Maybe it was that Marc wasn't really a teenager, per say. Even ignoring the fact he was technically a hundred-and-something, he had probably been somewhere in his twenties when he was supposed to have died. But was that really that offensive?

"Did I say something wrong?" Salem asked, trying not to make it sound awkward or rude.

"Huh?" For a moment, Marc looked taken aback, then he blinked and Salem thought he understood. "Nah. You didn't say anything wrong. Don't worry about it." The smile Marc shot at him was big enough to be convincing, even if Salem wasn't quite sure he wanted believed it. His fingers swept through Salem's hair gently, and Salem closed his eyes. It was kind of late, wasn't it? The boy let out another yawn, and Marc loosened his grip some more while shifting Salem on his lap so it was more comfortable. Without really realizing it, Salem managed to drift into sleep on the other's lap.