Alex spent most of the evening with his parents. He took great care not to stay too late, no matter what they said or how often his father reminded him that John was out drinking with some of the others–some of the others, he'd specifically said, not mentioning any names like he normally would, so that just told him he had seen Brown leave with them–because he wanted Pa to get some rest for a change.

His father always slept better when Ma visited, but they wouldn't go to bed as long as he still hung around.

So, when Alex left for their own room, it wasn't too late yet; after he had gotten a fire going to shoo the all-encompassing darkness into the far corners of the room, he sat on the bed, not quite knowing what to do with himself.

Alone-time wasn't something he just… had. No one in the army really got any alone-time, except for the generals, perhaps–but the rest of them shared rooms and even beds in the winter or when there simply weren't enough, and when they weren't in their rooms with their comrades, they were in the office with their comrades, or out drinking, like tonight.

Alex's alone-time usually included John.

He swallowed and shook his head at himself when a faint tug of longing stirred his gut; he couldn't seriously be missing John, he had seen him hours on end that day, and he didn't own him.

John's life didn't revolve around Alex, he could spend time away from him, he was just unwinding with their friends and-

Elijah fucking Brown.

The tug returned, but it was more like a sharp twist this time around.

Alex bit his lip and attempted to steer his thoughts into a more productive direction as he shed his uniform, gave himself a quick wipe-down in front of the washbasin, and slipped into his nightclothes, but the nagging drag of doubt wouldn't leave him, no matter how hard he tried to shove it back into whatever hole it had crawled out of.

It danced along the edges of his mind, like an odd shadow one could only see from the corner of one's eye, but he could neither get a good enough grip on it to haul it into the light and confront it, nor push it out into the darkness.

It was fine. Fine fine fine fine-

Alex heaved an annoyed sigh and dropped down to the mattress. He sprawled out on top of the covers and stared up at the ceiling for a few moments before he curled into himself and watched his fingers pick at the bedding instead.

What was he worried about? John loved him. He didn't love the asshole with the pretty eyes and perfect cheekbones.

...but he had, probably, at one point, an unhelpful voice from somewhere deep within supplied.

John was- he was sentimental. A nice, well-raised southern gentleman, who hadn't touched Alex until he had practically begged him for it when they had just started out, who kissed him so sweetly and held him close every time they made love, who'd asked both his parents for their blessing before he'd even brought up the idea of marriage to him, who'd put his late mother's ring on his finger when he'd promised him forever.

He didn't do casual. Not his John.

He had loved that man at some point. Before he loved Alex, before he'd even met him-

And what if he had been the one he'd wanted, what if he only moved on to Alex because he couldn't have him, what if this reminded him how much he'd loved that fucking asshole and brought long buried feelings back to the surface-

The door creaked open, and Alex shot upright.

"John!" he said, and the net of self-doubt and–yes, he could admit it–petty jealousy he had gotten himself tangled up in was split down the middle and dropped to the floor.

John locked the door and smiled at him as he shrugged off his coat and crossed over to the bed to give him a gentle kiss hello, and the squeezing vice Alex had put around his own heart eased up.

His lips tasted faintly of ale, but nothing stronger, so that was good, at least. Alex… couldn't handle drunk men very well.

"Hey, darling," he greeted softly, and the small smile on Alex's lips grew strained. John had already turned away to get ready for bed himself, so he didn't notice.

Was he the first person he'd called that? Or had he used that endearment on that tramp, too?

"I didn't expect you to be here when I got back," John said, muffled by the shirt he was in the process of putting on, and Alex ached with the intensity of the affection that flared to life in his chest as John carded his fingers through his hair and tied it back up.

He slept like that sometimes, when his hair annoyed him too much–usually only in warmer, wetter climates, but tonight seemed to be an exception.

"I left as early as they would let me. You know my father doesn't sleep enough, but it's always better when Ma is around," he replied. John sat next to him and pulled him into his arms, kissed his cheek, and Alex melted.

"Mh. Not sleeping runs in the family," he said, and Alex scooted himself closer and swung his legs up over John's lap.

John just rested his hand on his thigh, thumb rubbing gently back and forth, and pressed another kiss to his temple. "How was your day?"

"I missed you," he said and nuzzled into the crook of John's neck; they were pressed so close, John's soft chuckle shook him and reverberated in his own chest.

"You missed me? We saw each other all day, darling."

Alex pulled back a little, just enough so John would see his halfhearted glare–it didn't last him very long, though, because he took that opportunity to kiss him again. This time, it was more than a sweet little peck, and Alex breathed a pleased sigh against John's lips and opened his mouth when he swiped his tongue along his bottom lip.

"Wasn't the same," he mumbled and brought his hand up to caress the sharp line of his jaw. "I couldn't kiss you."

God, if the world wasn't so fucked up, if they didn't need to be afraid and watch their every move, if what they had was just as accepted as the love between a man and a woman–Alex could have put a stop to this whole situation that afternoon just by marching his ass over to John and the bastard, grabbing his husband by his lapels, and kissing him stupid.

That would have communicated to the guy to back the fuck off.

"Aw, darling," he said and dragged the pad of his thumb along Alex's lower lip; something in his gut had a very visceral reaction to that, and when John leaned in to kiss him once more, he was almost tempted to just forget about the whole issue for the night. He enjoyed the idea his gut was trying to sell him, to drag John down to the bed with him and get him back out of that shirt. "You can kiss me now."

Alex grinned and bumped their noses together. "I do plan on that later."

"Later?" he inquired with raised brows, and all of a sudden Alex's usually so reliable tongue lay in knots against the roof of his mouth.

This was the moment to put it all out there.

But it was stupid, wasn't it? It was irrational, because Alex knew full well that John was head over heels for him, just as he was for John, and that a familiar pretty face, pushy as it might be, couldn't change that.

If he were to keep silent, though- maybe it would only get worse. John would make more of an effort to put a stop to the flirting if he knew Alex was bothered by it, as insecure as it would make him look.

He wasn't insecure. He was careful, because he knew John could do so much better than him if he so fancied.

He wasn't insecure just as he wasn't jealous–he was realistic.

Alex sighed. "Tell me about Elijah Brown," he said and gave himself a mental pat on the back for having resisted the urge to put a fucking in the middle of the name.

"Eli?" John said, and Alex had an odd sensation in his stomach, as though he had missed the last step on his way down the stairs.

"Eli," he echoed, unenthused. "You have a nickname for him."

"I mean- yes? Is that a bad thing? I don't really ever call you Alexander, either," he said, and oh boy, had that been the wrong thing to say.

Alex moved back on the bed until they weren't touching anymore and breathed through what felt like hot coals in his stomach.

He wasn't jealous. He wasn't insecure.

"So, we're the same to you?"

John paused and scrutinised him closely, concern gleaming in his eyes. Alex leaned back against the wall, pulled his knees up to his chest, and watched him in turn.

"Of course not, Alex. What kind of question is that?"

Alex bit his lip, averted his eyes. "You… you've been with him. Right?"

John heaved a tired sigh and made a tiny, unfinished gesture with his hand Alex could just make out from the corner of his eye, as if he wanted to reach out but held himself back.

"Does that matter?" he asked, voice soft.

He hesitated–it didn't. Not really, he was just being stupid, but- but after he had spent the whole day watching some hussy put his hands all over his husband, was it really so condemnable of him to want to hear John say that he was the only one who mattered?

"To me, it does," he said, choked.

Another quiet sigh. "Alright. Eli and I met… about four years ago, I think? We had a thing, it lasted a couple months, and it didn't work out. I haven't seen him since, and it's been a while, so it's just nice to see him again."

Alex scoffed, even though that reaction felt rather childish to him only a moment later. "I could see how nice it was for him to see you again."

There was a significant pause, long enough it prompted Alex into looking back at John; he frowned at him, caught between confusion and disapproval, and Alex shrunk further against the wall.

"What's going on in that head, Alex? What do you think Eli is doing?"

"What do I think he's doing?" he repeated, incredulous. "The man has been throwing himself at you the whole day, standing too close and touching too often, and looking at you like you were nothing more than a piece of meat for supper, and you are asking what I think that-" he cut himself off before he could voice any of the internal monologue he had entertained himself with since that morning. "very nice man is doing?"

John blinked, and Alex counted with his breathing until his heart had slowed down again.

"A piece of meat," he stated, rolling the words around on his tongue. "Eli has always been… physically affectionate. I don't think he means anything by it."

"This will sound so stupid to you," Alex said and cleared his throat, tried desperately to stop himself from tearing up out of pure frustration.

"I love it when you preface your emotionally vulnerable moments like that," John said with a small smile, and Alex was so glad to see him smile at him, because that meant they weren't fighting. He didn't want to fight.

He just wanted to be close to him, to be reassured that John wanted him and him alone.

"Um. You know I don't mind when you get close to other men. That's just how it is, we all live in close quarters, we touch each other a lot, and I think if we were to forbid Kidder from hugging people, he would simply perish," he said and answered John's quiet chuckle with a careful smile. "Now, for the stupid part. I don't like it when he touches you. Because I know he- touched you. I don't like him flirting with you, because I know that was a reality for you once. And I- I think he thinks he could get back with you, and the idea alone that he could be trying to get into your bed right in front of me had me plotting murder today."

"Hm," John said and left it at that for quite a while; long enough for Alex's palms to grow clammy, in fact.

"Is that all you have to say to that?" he asked, trying his darndest to keep his voice level and the throbbing hurt concealed.

John rubbed at his eyes and made an odd sound, like a sigh that wanted to be a laugh. "Alexander. Darling. My dearest. While I find it very sweet that you would kill a man for me, I would like to gently remind you that there are exactly zero reasons for you to be jealous of someone I last saw four years ago."

Alex's mouth hung open for a moment as a flush crept high into his cheeks. "I'm not jealous. And I think I just gave you more than enough reasons why I don't enjoy seeing him around you."

"I say this with love: You're being ridiculous."

"I don't feel very loved right now," Alex mumbled, aiming to make himself sound aloof, but only succeeded to come across as dejected.

"Hey," John said, gentler now, and crawled up the bed to sit beside him. "I don't mean to sound dismissive. Thank you for telling me how you feel. But Alex, you have to understand how this looks from my perspective. We were both nineteen the last time we saw each other, and I do have fond memories of him, but you are my husband, darling. This is just me reconnecting with an old friend, nothing more, nothing less, and I absolutely do not want you to feel threatened by it."

Alex took a shaky breath and drew his knees tighter against his chest, fisted his hands into the bunched up fabric on his thighs, did not meet John's eye.

"Did you love him?" he said. Everything else John had just told him was all nice and good, but that was the point of contention.

John covered his left hand with his own, gently worked it free of its claw-like hold on his pants, and brushed his thumb over the golden line of the ring on his finger.

"I do believe I've told you before that you were the first person I've ever fallen in love with," he said and carefully raised Alex's hand, guided it up until he could press a kiss to where his thumb had just been, and Alex wanted so bad to put out the forest-fire of insecurity that tore through him and let himself be with John.

But his stupid emotions just didn't work like that, unfortunately.

"Loving someone and being in love with someone are two different things," he whispered.

It made John sigh again, and Alex hated that he gave him reason to look that exasperated, that tired.

He should just let it go, it wasn't a big deal, he was being stupid and insecure and annoying, he nagged him about things John obviously didn't consider important, and forced him to talk about something he didn't want to talk about.

Alex drew his free arm close to his chest and wished he had worn a long-sleeve despite the comfortable warmth provided by the fireplace.

Like this, John was not only privy to all the ugly emotions swirling inside him, but also all his other imperfections.

Alex was ugly inside and out. He didn't deserve John, anyway.

"I suppose," John said after he had taken a few moments to think it over. "I suppose I did love him, then. On some level. But not like I love you, Alex; nothing I ever had with Eli comes even close to what we have, alright, darling?"

Alex nodded, mute, not trusting his voice enough to answer aloud.

He glanced over at the rustling of sheets. John shuffled closer until they were touching thighs to shoulders, then shifted his gentle hold on his fingers to his other hand so that he could slip an arm around him and gather him close.

"I'm sorry for being like this," Alex said, quiet, for fear John would hear the tears burning behind his eyes if he spoke any louder.

"It's alright, darling," he said and planted another kiss on the back of his hand. He was too good for him, Alex should stop being so selfish and let him go, let him be with someone worthy of him-

"We both know that if I'd seen someone flirt with you, there would have been at least one broken nose, so you reacting with just murder-fantasies probably saved us quite some trouble," John said with a smile too sweet for the vaguely threatening thing he had just shared, and Alex felt himself reminded of his mother.

Still, it startled a laugh out of him–it was far from his usual laugh, a little wet, a little hoarse, a little hurt. God, he was so weak, so useless-

"You're upset," John observed, his smile gaining a concerned note. "Hm. What if I promise you that I will try to keep a respectful distance between Eli and myself? I won't be able to stay entirely away from him in the office, obviously, but- you are more important to me than he is, Alex. I don't want to hurt you, ever, and when he comes too close from now on, I'll just- take a step back, alright?"

You are more important to me.

That was what he'd wanted to hear, and yet it didn't serve to calm his disarrayed thoughts and feelings.

"Thank you," he said, blinking the tears from his eyes. Then, after another quick heartbeat, "Are you… sure it's me you want, though? I bet he would be a lot less trouble."

"Alex," he said, flat and- disappointed? Alex tensed up, drew his hand from his grip, and curled it against his chest as well.

"Sorry. I'm sorry, I'm so stupid-"

"Don't talk about yourself like that. You're the smartest man I know, clever and well-read, quick-witted, kind, caring, and absolutely stunning on top of that. You're perfect, Alex, and you know I don't tolerate you putting yourself down like that," he said, his voice hard with determination, and yet warm with genuine love and affection, and Alex teared up again.

"I don't deserve you, you're too good-"

"Wrong. You are intelligent, strong, beautiful, hard-working, resourceful–the list goes on. You could have had anyone, Alex, and you chose me, and I'll be forever grateful for that. No more of that self-deprecating bullshit, alright?"

John's words settled over the freshly opened wounds in his soul like a soothing balm.

Alex was desperate to believe him, to take those pretty words and wrap himself up in them until nothing could hurt him, but- no matter how hard he tried, there was always this little voice. Always a tiny weak-spot. A small crack that would shatter the whole construction if it was struck just right.

Words wouldn't be enough tonight.

He sniffled and stretched his legs out, uncurled himself, and crawled up into John's lap; he settled gingerly and glanced at him through his eyelashes to make sure he wasn't bothering him with his neediness.

John just shot him a tender smile and brought his hands up to his hips, slipped his thumbs underneath Alex's shirt, and rubbed soft circles into his skin.

He met him in the middle when Alex leaned in for a kiss, slow and deep and without urgency.

"Make love to me?" he said, the request little more than a puff of air against John's lips, as small and frail as Alex felt.

He just needed to be close to him, to have him, to reassure himself that John was with him, not with Eli, that he wanted to be with him, that he loved him.

"Is that what you need, Alexander?" he whispered into his skin, the tip of his nose trailing along his cheek as he scattered kisses all over his face, and Alex shivered. John rarely ever called him by his full given name, as he had pointed out himself earlier, and to hear it spoken like that, between just the two of them and the lurking darkness, pressed into his skin almost like a prayer–it did things to him.

"Yes," he breathed. One of the hands pushed fully under his shirt, warm fingers ghosting along his ribs, and Alex felt raw. Cracked open, laid bare; and he didn't mind even a little.

It was John. John's hands, John's warmth, John's breath, John's lips, and he trusted him with his life, with his heart and soul.

He was his, Alex's, no one else would ever feel his lips on their neck or his hands on their body, because he was his.

"Alright," he said, and with a sweet kiss to his lips, John gripped him around the waist and tipped him backwards, down onto the sheets.