dragonnarrative-writes - Tumblr blog

[dragonnarrative-writes]

tw: mentions of roofies, murder, then smut:)

cbf!simon would absolutely kill for you.

cbf!simon has always been your partner in crime.

even in your youth, back when he was built like a daffodil, he was always by your side. kept you safe from the mean girls at school, always got in trouble for throwing hands at boys who made crass comments at you and the like. then he'd left his butcher job to join the military. "I gotta learn how to keep you safe, love. i'll always come back to ya."

and he had. he returned to you almost four times his size; he left a boy and came back a man. down to your very bones, you knew that he would always keep you safe.

which is why he was the first person you called when the guy next to you at the bar roofied your drink. the beer fizzed irregularly and had an almost milky colour even though it was an ipa.

the idiot had dared to smile at you, an oily, crooked grin with yellow teeth, and lifted his own glass to toast with you.

you bolted out of your seat in seconds, heading straight to the ladies' room, and dialed.

he answered on the second ring.

"please come get me." you hadn't meant to sound as terrified as you felt.

"be there in 5," then hung up.

he lived 15 minutes away from the dingy bar.

true to his word, he was there in 5, texting where you were at.

inside the ladies bathroom.

he let himself in, put his jacket around your quivering shoulders, and with a strong, comforting arm, guided you toward the exit and into his truck. simon remained silent as he sat you in the passenger seat, gently pulling the seatbelt over your chest, clicking it into place.

he stood next to you, his hands resting on your jean-clad thighs, waiting patiently for you to explain.

your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you sort out your thoughts. you no longer felt afraid, that much was certain. simon has always been your pillar of strength. there was nothing to fear with him at your side.

so why do your hands continue to tremble? digging deeper, you realize that you're angry. no.

furious.

some imbecile thought he'd take advantage of you. if you'd been any more drunk, you would have been a victim— wound up lifeless in a dirty ditch.

you burned with fury, your blood boiling under your skin. how dare he? how dare he?

simon softly touches your tightly clenched hands, coaxing your fingers to unfurl.

everything pulls hard to port when your eyes land on his disfigured knuckles— scarred by battle. you've never liked what simon did for a living. he just fought and killed people that some higher-up told him were the bad guys.

in war, there is no good or bad side. the field is too soaked in blood for anyone to recognize where the line is if there even was one to begin with.

until now. just this once, you couldn't be more grateful that simon possesses the skills he does.

you make your decision. "there was a guy in there. green hat, ugly brown jacket with yellow, crooked teeth. he drugged my beer, then toasted me so i would drink it."

his hands tighten around yours marginally. "and now i'm here, safe, with you. but he's still in there, with potentially a pocket full of pills, on the lookout for his next victim. how am i supposed to sleep tonight, knowing that if someone goes missing tonight, the blood will be on my hands?"

you cut your eyes to his dark, hardened ones, and the words tumble out of your mouth with surprising ease.

"there's trash in there that needs throwing out, simon."

nothing but a wretched mongrel that needs to be put down.

simon's nod is subtle, but it's there. you exhale a shuddering breath, heart slamming against your ribcage.

he's a gun in your hand, and you've just pulled the trigger.

simon hands you the keys to the truck. "are you sober enough to drive home?" he quietly asks.

hard to keep a buzz when you almost became a victim of—

"yes."

he's opening the glove compartment, taking out his skeleton gloves, and a tac knife that he tucks inside the waistband of his jeans.

"go home. i'll see ya in a bit." his voice is flat, lifeless.

simon closes the door and raps his knuckles on the hood of the truck before heading inside.

and so the elephant marches to war.

-

it's well past midnight when he crawls in through your window. one moment his boots are on the windowsill, the next he's pinning you onto your mattress, hips flush against yours.

his chilly, clean hands lift the hem of your loose shirt, dimpling the soft skin that his fingers dig into— his bare lips grazing the shell of your ear.

"he is no longer a problem."

he grinds his clothed erection against the flimsy fabric of your sleeping shorts.

"you did the right thing by telling me what he did."

simon trails a path of open-mouthed kisses from your ear down to your mouth, licking your bottom lip.

"nothing gets me harder than when my girl looks at me to keep her safe."

your breath hitches when a hand begins to move south, lifting the waistband of your bottoms and sliding his fingers over your slick pussy. "it seems you like it too. does it turn you on, ordering me around like a dog? i bark at your command, pet."

one finger sinks into your wet heat, his groan drowning out your own.

"you like having this much power over me? how easily i bend to your will?" he croons.

there are two fingers in you now, so much thicker than your own, and the way they curl and drag along your nerves has your toes tingling. he takes you to the precipice at frightening speed— the expert hands that kill without remorse are the same ones that are bringing you your pleasure.

he thrusts his fingers into you with an obscene squelch and a thumb circles your slippery clit.

"i'd burn the world to ashes if you asked it of me."

the coil in your stomach is tight, your body tense in anticipation.

"so... would you? would you ask me to bring the world to its very knees?"

the answer sits on the tip of your tongue when you climax around his fingers, walls pulsing rhythmically, arousal dripping from his knuckles.

later will be a good time to reflect on how you don't feel even remotely guilty for what's been done.

for now, you focus on how good simon feels as he slowly sinks into you, splitting you wide open with his heavy cock.

-

simon finds no pills in the guy's pockets. no baggie, no bottle.

nothing.

shame that his little love has declared the guy's life forfeit.

your wish is his command.

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Protective!Ghost who overhears you discussing a stalker ex-boyfriend

Protective!Ghost who hates the idea of a knife or gun under your pillow for safety

Protective!Ghost who follows you home

Protective!Ghost who waits until the dead of night to break in

Protective!Ghost who updates your security while you sleep

Protective!Ghost who buys you a puppy in secret

Protective!Ghost who convinces you to help him pick out his own puppy, gifting your puppy to you in thanks

Protective!Ghost who signs up both puppies for protection classes

Protective!Ghost who schedules puppy play dates with you every week to spend time together

Protective!Ghost who kisses you in his kitchen

Protective!Ghost who sleeps in your bed

Protective!Ghost who jokes about being the weapon under your pillow

Protective!Ghost who marries you

Protective!Ghost who ensures your ex will never bother you or anyone else again

You who pretends to be asleep when Ghost breaks in to update your security, and every time after that

You who initiates the kiss in his kitchen

You who sees the news report of your ex's recovered body a year into the marriage

You who's never been happier, curled up against Simon's side with the pups sleeping at your feet

[dragonnarrative-writes]

do any of my fellow writers/artists get annoyed by more enthusiastic reblogs? like using all caps and/or keyboard smashing? is it something you would block over personally? there’s no wrong answer!

i personally love any interaction but i just don’t wanna come off as annoying in my reblogs lol

[dragonnarrative-writes]

The person I reblogged this from is awesome as fuck.

[dragonnarrative-writes]

non-uk followers of mine, if i say the word "dogging" do you know what i'm referring to without looking it up or needing further explanation?

[dragonnarrative-writes]

GhostGaz Week - sweet talk // missed connection

I'm so so so excited to have participated in @ghostgazweek this year! It's the first time I've done an event like this and it's brought me so much joy. To everyone who has read and commented on my work this week, thank you! I'm so excited to play with some of these concepts some more.

CW: Relationships between coworkers, mutual pining, front of house/back of house relations, Phillip Graves (derogatory), kissing, a taste of dirty talk

“Takin’ my ten,” Kyle tells his manager, pulling his phone from his pocket. Price nods, waving him off and assigning Kyle’s tables to Alex and Nova. He swings into the kitchen with an absent wave as he checks his messages and steps out back.

“’M no’ sayin’ ye have’ t’ declare yer love in front o’ the whole bloody team.”

Kyle perks up at the sound of Soap’s voice, but back-of-house gossip is going to have to wait while he tries to figure out what his off-again situationship is complaining about now. Or not - the meltdown in his messages is not worth dealing with. Just as he’s about the round the corner though, the growl of Simon’s voice freezes him.

“That’ll do, Soap.”

Kyle has to bite his lip to keep from gasping. Simon isn’t the head chef - that’s Farah - but he might as well be her right hand. He’s the glue of the weekend dinner rush. Level headed no matter what, rarely raises his voice above a raspy muttering, huge hands that Kyle has seen split an apple in half without a hint of visible effort. Whoever he dates is going to be envied by the entire front of house. Partially because he’s bloody gorgeous. But partly because he’s just the perfect man.

“Nae, yer gonna listen t’me,” Soap insists. “I promise, ‘e’s interested.”

“’E’s not,” Simon says. “Already tried flirtin’ wit’ ‘im. No dice.”

“Leavin’ a note wit’ yer phone number - in a pile of other notes with phone numbers - is no’ flirtin,” Soap says, and Kyle can imagine the despair on his face just from the tone of his voice. “Do you ken ‘ow many o’ those damn notes ‘e gets in a night?”

“Exactly. And he’s got a bird.”

“They broke up last week,” Soap hisses. “She’s shacking up with her ex.”

Kyle would snicker at how close he sounds to pulling his hair out but…

Kyle’s situationship ended last week. Because she moved in with her ex and Kyle doesn’t want to go through that roller coaster, again. And Kyle’s the flirt on shift, so he gets the most notes and phone numbers on receipts…

“’E’s got better prospects,” Simon says. Kyle hears the flick of a lighter. “Gorgeous, competent, charismatic? Kyle could have anyone.”

“And ‘e wants you, ye daft fucker,” Soap groans. “Steamin’ Jesus the two of ye. Just fuckin’ tell ‘im.”

“Tell you what,” Simon grumbles, muffled by his cigarette. “If he comes out here before my break’s done, I’ll tell ‘im.”

“Then ah’ll go in an- Oh you mother fucker! 30 seconds?”

Simon sounds amused when he says, “Tick tock.”

Kyle probably couldn’t ask for a better dramatic entrance, so he rounds the corner with a, “What’d I miss?”

Soap yelps and clutches at his chest like an old woman. Leaning against the wall, Simon looks about as surprised as he ever does, which means there’s a hunted look around his eyes, but he mostly looks tired and resigned. He settles into his thousand yard stare and takes a long drag.

“Gaz-bear!” Soap exclaims. He circles behind Kyle and shoves him forward. “Simon has something to tell you that is of a very personal nature. Do not let him distract you with talk about the kitchen! I love both of ye and ah’m tellin’ Price to fire both of ye if ye don’t talk!”

And then he’s slamming back into the kitchen, leaving Simon and Kyle alone in the alley.

He could play coy, but Kyle’s a bit giddy. “You like me, Simon?”

Simon grunts, contemplates his cigarette as he says, “Wondered ‘ow much of that you ‘eard. But don’t worry, I’ll keep professional.”

“God no.” Kyle can’t imagine anything wants less. “Tell me when you wrote me that note.”

“Dunno," Simon shrugs. "6 weeks after that shit with Graves?”

Two years ago, before Price took over, Phillip Graves had been the manager. He’d been a nightmare, harassing hostesses and firing anyone who dared to point out he was bad at his job. After the tenth straight day of a front of house person running into the kitchen to cry, pursued by Graves himself, Simon had had enough.

“I c’n make this a much more hostile working environment if tha’s what we’re aimin’ for.” The big beautiful bastard had shoved his knife a good quarter inch through a cutting board. The reverberation of the blade had rung through the painfully silent kitchen. All of the back of house looked to Farah for direction. She'd looked at Simon. Kyle, Nova, Alex, and the girl they’d been consoling by the fridges had all held their breath.

“I could fire you,” Phil spat.

“You won’t. You fuck with this kitchen, you’re losing your job,” Simon had answered. The fact that he had looked and sounded bored had scared and aroused Kyle in equal measure. “So ‘ere’s what’s going to happen - Keller and Garick are supervisors now. Pay them like it. You got a problem with front o’ house, you talk to them. Another girl comes runnin’ in here, then I‘m coming out there an’ you and I are ‘avin’ words.”

Graves had sputtered, looked around at everyone gathered, then spun on his heel and left.

Three months later, he’d gone missing. Two weeks after that, Price had arrived, greeting Farah and Simon like old friends and preparing to make the restaurant the best Kyle had ever worked at.

What did it say about Kyle that rumors that Simon had gotten rid of Graves for good only made him more attractive?

“That was more than a year ago,” Kyle says, sidling his way under Simon’s arm and leaning into him. Kyle’s not a short man, but Simon is tall and broad and warm under his work tee. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Simon takes another drag, and looks down at Kyle out of the corner of his eye. “I’m not exactly dating material. And you had a bird.”

“I would have dumped her in a heartbeat,” Kyle admits, startled when Simon barks a surprised laugh. “I would have! Fuck, I could have been sneaking out here with you for seven months? I’ll break up with her again right now.”

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” Simon laughs, smashing his cigarette into the wall and dropping the butt into flower pot turned butt bin. He doesn’t move his arm from around Kyle’s shoulders.

“We’re dating now,” Kyle declares. “We’re boyfriends.”

“Movin’ kinda fast,” Simon points out.

“I’ve been in love with you for more than a year. Catch up,” Kyle dismisses. “My lease is up in four months, and I’m movin’ in with you. Now kiss me.”

Simon doesn’t hesitate. His lips are just the slightest bit rough. He smells like cigarettes and spices, and he turns to bracket Kyle against the wall. One large hand finds it’s way to the small of Kyle’s back to pull him in and press their hips together.

“Fuck,” Simon growls when Kyle moans against his mouth. “Pretty, pushy thing. Gonna be this demanding all the time, Gorgeous?”

“I have a lot of time to make up for,” Kyle groans, nibbling kisses along his jaw. “You should let me blow you.”

“Oh, should I?” Simon’s rumbling laugh sends shivers down his spine. “Should let Farah and Price catch you choking on my cock?”

Well, if Kyle was half-hard before, he’s rock hard now. “God, yeah, let me.”

“Not yet,” Simon growls, and that yet sends sparks flying through Kyle’s veins. His next kisses are just this side of too rough, tongue and teeth making Kyle’s lips so sensitive. Finally, he pulls himself away to pant into Kyle’s ear, “Let me take you on a date, huh, Gorgeous? Let me take you out, wine and dine you. Wanna know all about you, wanna talk about something other than work for more than five minutes. Then I’ll take you home and lay you out. Kiss you all over, suck that gorgeous cock of yours, yeah?"

“Jesus,” Kyle hisses. He tries to rock his hips into Simon’s, but strong hands hold him back. “Yeah, okay, yeah. Kiss me again.”

Simon laughs, dips down to give Kyle another closed-mouthed kiss. “Gotta head back in.”

“No,” Kyle pants. “Kiss me again.”

Simon growls into the next kiss and shifts to press his whole front into Kyle. When he pulls back, he presses a thumb against Kyle’s lips. “Be patient, Gorgeous. Gotta get through work tonight.”

He knows he’s pushing it, but, “…kiss me again.”

Simon’s lips are achingly gentle for a moment and then they’re gone as he takes a step back. “’M goin’ inside, now.”

“Thai food after work?” Kyle pants.

Simon chuckles and adjusts himself. “Yeah.” He swoops in for another brief peck. “It’s a date.”

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Free Headers/Dividers Masterlist

If you’re looking to add some graphics to your Masterlist, check out this list! All images are free for you to use - just please consider liking or reblogging 💕 And for best quality, tap/click and open each image and save from there (don’t save from the post itself!)

[Requests are Open - please read here!]

Masterlist Headers & Dividers

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Making Moodboards in Canva

Recent Faves:

— Christmas & Winter

— Stars & Space | Sun

— Stars & Space | Moon

— Stars & Space | Purple

✨(Everything was made in and using Canva - so definitely check that app out if you’re looking to make your own! Here, here, here and here are some tips on using the app / making graphics if you haven’t before!) (and credit is not required but a reblog would be great if you use! 💕) ✨

[dragonnarrative-writes]

“Living weapon” covers a lot and all of it is hot

[dragonnarrative-writes]

GhostGaz Week - over consumption // sun burn

CW: Brits trying Mexican cuisine without knowing what it is (not fraught), accidental alcohol consumption, sun burn,

@ghostgazweek

Simon had to admit, this whole private beach situation was a lot more enjoyable than he’d expected. When Alejandro and Rudy had suggested a quick flight from Monterrey to Puerto Vallarta before heading back across the pond, he’d been… skeptical. A beach is a beach, sand is sand, and the UK has both. Why fly the opposite direction of from home to sweat in the sand surrounded by civilians? He’d already spent three weeks in joint training sweating in the sand with people he generally liked, and now he just wants to rest.

Well, hell, he’s resting now. He’s reclined on some kind of couch bed on the roof of the villa, hiding from the sun under an awning and letting the heat leach every bit of tension from his body. From here, he can barely hear Soap whooping down by the water. Price is somewhere in town, chasing a Canadian skirt he met at a bar yesterday. And Kyle is… somewhere.

As though summoned, the man appears at the top of the stairs with two of the largest, most vibrantly yellow beverages Simon’s ever seen and a plastic bag hanging from his arm.

“The fuck is tha’?” Simon asks around a yawn. He only sort of sits up to squint as Kyle offers him one of the fishbowls. He sips without waiting for an answer. Citrus and something else, ice cold and refreshing.

“Mechanica something,” Kyle answers, taking a gulp of his own and placing the plastic bag on the table. “Lady at the market was selling jugs of it. Another lady was selling some fermented drink, said they’re good together. These,” he gestures to the bag, which Simon realizes is full to bursting with something fried and delicious smelling, “are molotes, and I got three of every kind they had.”

“Soap’s down at the beach,” Simon reports.

“He’ll come have some or he’ll have to find his own,” Kyle says, taking another gulp of mechanica something. He grabs a pocket of fried dough and chomps into it with a groan. “This one’s cheese. The locals recommended the... see-sos? I don’t know what that is. But there’s chicken, pork, shrimp and mushroom ones, too.”

Simon swipes one, inspects it for a moment, and takes a bite. Spice bursts across his tongue, tasty and just the littlest bit painful. It’s perfect.

Six molotes and a quarter gallon of drink later, Simon realizes that he probably should have slowed down. His belly is pleasantly overfull, but his head is swimming. Kyle, somehow still eating, is swaying in his seat, just a bit. Or maybe that’s Simon.

“’Ey,” he calls, “C’mere.”

Kyle grins, finishes the last swig of his drink, and comes over to flop next to Simon on the couch bed. He drops a kiss on the point of Simon’s shoulder. “Fuck. That was good.”

The burst of pleasure that’s always there when Kyle is casually affectionate feels especially nice this afternoon. Simon kisses his temple with a hum, then meets Kyle's lips when he turns into the contact.

Kyle's lips are warm and the slightest bit greasy from the fried dough. He tastes like citrus, mostly. He doesn't resist as Simon tows him down to the cushions, lets himself be drawn on top to settle in to make out like teenagers.

Except then Simon has to break away and turn his head for a jaw-cracking yawn. He flicks the sleeve of Kyle’s shirt at his snicker. Something about the sun keeps knocking him out, which the team finds endlessly amusing. Simon himself would find it mildly annoying, but he keeps waking up from the best nap of his life every six hours. He snuggles down into his little shaded spot and lets sleep take him again.

He’s a bit stiff, fuzzy headed, and cotton mouthed when he wakes up next. Kyle’s face down next to him, shirtless and snoring. Simon admires the slope of his back in the light of the setting sun for a moment before looking for what woke him up. Price and Soap have apparently joined them, and are pouring shots.

“G’mornin’, bella durmiente,” Soap says with a grin.

Simon grunts something and sits up. Or… he tries, but his head starts spinning so he flops back into the pillows.

“I put a bottle of water by your head,” Price says, arching a judgmental eyebrow. “Not sure what possessed you two to drink that much mezcal at once.”

“Tha’ the fermen’ed thing Kyle brough’?” Simon fishes the ice cold bottle from in the pillows and makes himself sit up to swallow half of it down.

“The pulque? That’s not what you two drank. You drank a quarter bottle of straight mezcal.”

“Wha’s tha’?”

“Tequila.”

“Oh.” That explains a lot. Simon pushes himself up to one elbow, blinks until his eyes refocus. He places a hand on Kyle’s back and has a moment to wonder at how hot his skin is before the man twitches, yelps, arches away, and yelps again.

“Fuck, ow, fuck!”

Soap snickers for the next half hour while Simon smooths frosty aloe vera over Kyle’s neck, shoulders and back. The sunburn isn’t anywhere as bad as if any of the rest of them had laid in the sun for three hours, but Kyle whines like a baby the whole time. He also shares his coconut water with Simon, though, so that’s alright.

[dragonnarrative-writes]

tbh i didnt know you were supposed to be jerking off while you look at porn

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Post 30, I can confirm that liking things and being horny is one of life's continued joys.

aren't you a bit old to be thirst posting like this tho?? 🤧

catch me thirst posting on my deathbed the grind never stops

[dragonnarrative-writes]

I know "60s housewives who invented slash fanfiction" has taken on a life of its own as a phrase, but Kirk/Spock didn't really exist until the 70s and THOSE WOMEN HAD JOBS. They were teachers and librarians and bookkeepers and scientists and they damn well spent their own money going to conventions, printing zines, buying fanart and making fandom happen. Put some respect on their names.

[dragonnarrative-writes]

prompt: gaz and ghost on overwatch, watching soap talk to their contact on the ground, and roasting him alive on comms. just stepping on his neck nonstop. soap can hear them but can't react because the contact spooks easy -391780

@391780 i LOVED this prompt. nothing makes me happier than Ghost and Gaz banter (there's so much of it in the drafts for misery and festivals). hopefully this little blurb satisfies the prompt!

-- “Permission to speak freely, sir?” 

Soap’s earpiece crackles as Gaz opens the comms, distracting him for a second from the twitchy man in front of him. 

“Go ahead, sergeant.” Ghost rumbles.

“You ever realise that Soap stands with his hip cocked?” Soap can hear the shit eating grin in Gaz’s voice. The sleekit wee bastard. 

“Hm. Looks like a teapot.”

“A teapot, sir?”

“Like the nursery rhyme.” 

The comm crackles again as it cuts off Garrick’s stifled chuckle. 

Soap shifts his stance, subtly redistributing his weight to rest evenly and bringing his hands up to loop his thumbs into the shoulder straps of his vest. There, now he can’t be called a fuckin’ teapot. The informant flicks his eyes over Soap warily. 

The comm clicks on again.

“Think he heard us, sergeant?” Ghost asks, amusement lacing his tone.

“Can’t be sure sir, it appears Cap has taken Soap’s place temporarily.” Gaz’s voice wobbles with repressed laughter. 

“Can’t see it myself, Garrick.”

“Why’s that, sir?” 

“Doubt Price would dare show ‘is face if he had a mop like that on his head.” Ghost deadpans. Soap feels his eye twitch as Gaz chokes back another burst of laughter. Cheeky fuckin’ cunts. 

“Looks -” Gaz cuts off the comm before flicking it back on, “looks like he lost a fight with a pair of clippers -” the comm cuts off again and Soap swears he can hear Gaz wheezing somewhere above him. 

Soap moves one of his hands to scratch at the back of his helmet with his middle finger, aware of the way the informant tracks his movements. If those pair of wallopers blow this op, Soap swears to himself that he’ll dye every single one of Ghost’s balaclavas pink and sew a Saltire on the front of Gaz’s cap in place of the Union Jack. 

Abruptly the tone on the comms change. 

“Garrick.” Ghost snaps, the teasing lilt to the banter is gone and in its place is the hard tone Soap’s heard before when things are about to get dicey. 

“I see ‘em.” 

“Keep them in your sights, I don’t like the look of -” whatever Ghost doesn’t like the look of gets cut off as an explosion sends a shockwave of sound and dust over Soap, forcing him to cover his head from flying debris. 

- 

Much later when the three of them are getting chewed out by Price for “missing a whole fucking truckload of insurgents because you three were too busy dicking around on the bloody comms” Soap decides that his little sewing project isn’t nearly enough in the way of payback.

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Actually no worries about not supporting them! You don’t have to see them at all because you’re just blocked!

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Idk why but it bothers me when people are like "Xyz Character would never do that" and they're talking about a dark!fic. Like yeah. That's why it's labeled as dark!character. It's a darker version of that character. Because we know that the Canon version of that character would not do that. Also this is fiction. It is all fiction. And you are responsible for your own media consumption.

[dragonnarrative-writes]

you’ve heard of “you can’t kill me in a way that matters” now get ready for “you can’t kill me in a way that will bring you satisfaction”

[dragonnarrative-writes]

GhostGaz Week - friendly competition // an honest mistake

@ghostgazweek

Simon’s lips are firm, but startlingly gentle. The hand he has on Kyle’s jaw tips his head just so, and he barely stifles a groan as Simon’s tongue teases against his bottom lip. The rumble of contentment he lets out shakes Kyle down to his bones. Whatever sound pushes past his lips at that must be what Simon’s looking for, though, because he deepens the kiss to something filthy. It’s everything Kyle’s ever imagined and more.

He just wishes he knew why they were kissing.

“Wait, wait,” Kyle says, when Simon’s other hand drifts down. He chokes as Simon’s thumb swipes over the fly of his jeans. “Wait, Simon, what’s going on?”

“Kissin’ m’ boyfriend.” The words, between pecks against the edge of Kyle’s jaw, set off alarm bells.

“Your what?”

That makes Simon lean back to meet his eyes. He looks hungry. “Whatever you like, love.”

Kyle rewinds the evening in his head. Unfortunately, he’s lost. “Huh?”

“You don’t like the word, we can use another one,” Simon says, patiently. He tips Kyle’s face up some more. “Mm. Y’re pretty, you know that?”

“Since when are you interested in dating me?”

Kyle’s never seen genuine confusion on Simon’s face before. It’s fascinating. After a beat, Simon says, “Since… you keep touching me? And holding my hand? And stealing my drinks? And we went on a date?”

On a what? “I don’t follow.”

“Which part?”

“All of it. Start from the beginning.”

“You touch me, all the time. Hold my hand at the bar and color in my tattoos,” Simon breathes, with a kiss to his eyebrow. “Tickled at first, but it’s nice, now. You wasn’t letting me finish a drink without drinkin’ half of it. And then we went on a date last Thursday.”

A bolt of realization makes Kyle’s jaw drop. “The new Thai spot? That was a date?”

Something about that makes Simon untangle them and take two steps back before Kyle can even register there’s something wrong. And there is something wrong. The man’s shoulders jump up to his ears as his hands dive into the pockets of his jacket. He hasn’t looked so fucking uncomfortable around Kyle since they met at the shop, years ago.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” He avoids Kyle’s eyes as he talks. “I just… I guess I read the signs wrong.”

“Hey, no.” It’s a relief when Simon let’s himself be reeled a step closer, but he still avoids looking at Kyle directly. “’M sorry, that’s my bad. Soap and I were betting on who could get away with annoying you longest.”

“Right,” Simon says, and it should be impossible for such a large man to look so small. “Not flirting. Sorry.”

Feeling like a complete heel, Kyle reaches into Simon’s pocket to wrap his fingers around his wrist. “No, hey, Simon, don’t run away from me. ‘M always flirting with you.”

“It’s fine. It’s friend flirting. I get it.”

“Stealing your beer might have been friend flirting,” Kyle admits. He takes deep breath and lets it out before adding, “But bringing you pasties in the morning is just regular flirting.”

Simon’s lips press together, and he looks at Kyle from the corner of his eye. “You bring everyone something.”

“I bring you and Cap tea since Johnny and I stop for coffee in the mornings,” Kyle corrects with a smirk, reeling Simon a half-step closer. “But you’re the only one who gets food. Don’t I get your favorite?”

Cautiously, Simon settles one shoulder on the wall next to Kyle. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t think you were interested in me.” Kyle shrugs, gestures vaguely at the space between them. “I just thought you liked people touching you, just as friends. You hug Cap and wrestle with Johnny all the time.”

“I don’t mind Cap and Johnny,” Simon confesses with a soft smile. His shoulders relax a bit, and he looks less like he’ll punch through the bottoms of his pockets. “But I like when you touch me. You have nice hands. And you smell nice.”

“You notice my cologne?” Kyle wraps his fingers in the strings of Simon’s hoodie and reels him back into his space. He smirks as he tips his face up again. “I was trying to find one you’d like.”

He watches Simon’s pupils dilate, just a little. “I always notice. You wore a new one to the Thai place. Liked it.”

Kyle presses a quick kiss to the divot in Simon’s chin. “I had a really nice time on Thursday.” He catches the corner of Simon’s lips with his own. “And I like holding your hand and drinking your beer.”

“You could drink less of my beer.”

Kyle grins. “Can I kiss my boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” Simon breathes. He sighs, slotting his lips against Kyle’s. “You could do that.”