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Simon had never been the one for parties; anyone could make that accurate assumption when they saw him. Standing at a staggering 6’2 accompanied by an off-putting attitude, it wasn’t wrong to conclude that he was the antisocial type. But of course, his teammate, Soap, had to be hosting a Christmas event. The team had been sent home to spend the holidays with loved ones before reconvening sometime in mid-January. Simon wasn’t going to return home at first, but it had been a while since he had come to his apartment—it was collecting dust at this point.
He vehemently refused Soap’s advances, ending each phone call Soap made to him in hopes of the Brit changing his mind. “There’ll be booze there,” Soap would chime in on the other end, his shit-eating grin practically cutting through the audible static of Simon’s reception. Fuck, he really needed a new phone—and upgrade the Wi-Fi. “Ain’t nothin’ I can’t buy at the store,” Simon flatly replied as he slumped further into the old leather of his couch, the furniture greeting him like an old friend.
A beat.
“…Food?” Soap offered, earning a groan from Simon as his hand raised to drag down his face. “You think ‘m fuckin’ worse for wear or somethin’?” Simon inquired, unable to hide the look of utter confusion on his face, his brows furrowed as he began to question why he even picked up the phone. An audible huff was heard on the other end of the line, Soap’s struggle to come up with a good reason for Simon to be at the party was tangible.
“There’ll be chicks there,” Soap would chime in. Simon’s breath hitched at his words, a silence enveloping the two as his mind wandered off. “Don’t need one.” Simon grumbled. Because I have someone waiting for me, he’d want to reply but opted to say nothing of the sort to spare himself from Soap’s teasing.
He wasn’t completely lying to himself, of course, considering the girl he was talking about was currently rummaging through his pots and pans like there was no tomorrow. To say Simon just ‘happened to know you’ for years was an understatement. You had moved to Manchester when he was around four years old and stuck to his side ever since. Or rather… he stuck to your side. Gravitated to you like you had your own magnetic pull, but honestly, he was just rather clingy and needy as a child.
You had seen each other through every phase in life. When you would invite Simon over and have him record you on that beat-up camcorder you had convinced your dad to buy as you sang loudly, claiming it was just the ‘Best performance ever!’ when in primary school. When Simon’s acne came into full throttle in secondary and left small craters in his skin that still lingered even now. And when Simon came to live with you toward the end of your school years, when things started getting bad at home before leaving for the military.
It was one of the few times Simon had ever cried and considering you were all the love he had left in the world since his family passed, he was hellbent on sinking his nails into you and never letting go. But of course, he’d never admit that. Not Simon, not the man who didn’t need anybody. Supposedly.
“You burned every single pot you have! Are you trying to have your food with a side of charcoal, Simon?!” You chastised from the kitchen, prompting Simon’s face to fall into his hand as he knew what was bound to come, especially since he had Soap on the line. “Ahhh,” Soap chuckled, a shit-eating grin audible from the other end of the phone. “I see the situation, why you don’t wanna come—”
“Ya don’t see shit. ‘Specially cause you’re on the other end of the phone.”
“No, no, I definitely see something—”
“Bring her with you?”
“You fuckin’ wish,” Simon muttered, his gaze trailing off to your moving figure in the kitchen as you strutted towards him, folding your arms across your chest. He didn’t understand why you were so upset, considering you were the one who burned his pans last time he was on holiday and seemed to forget. “Simon! Did you hear anything I said!?” You huffed out, visibly agitated with Simon’s lack of attention to you. Simon opened his mouth to reply, but the words died on his lips as soon as Soap began running his mouth again on the other line. “Y’know, you could always bring your girl and show her off—”
“Good fuckin’ bye,” Simon concluded, tossing the phone aside with a small groan, his heavy gaze now set on the agitated woman before him. Your eyes were wide with an expectant look, throwing your hands up in the air as you gestured to the kitchen. “Well?” You questioned, a scoff escaping you at the state of the sorry excuse for pans. “Well, what? You saw ‘em. They look like shit. What you want me to do ‘bout it?” He shrugged, his head lolling to the side as his gaze averted to the freshly fallen snow just outside the window.
Simon bit the inside of his cheek to fight back a smirk at your frustrated groan, your hands flying to the top of your head to smooth down stray strands of hair. “You’re going to make me go gray early, I just know it! How did this even happen? You’re barely home—I worry about you, y’know. When you’re on these… breaks, or whatever, from work, how am I supposed to know you’re takin’ care of yourself?” You asked rhetorically, his head dragging back toward you as his gaze settled on you.
A silence enveloped you two as Simon placed two hands on his knees, pushing himself up and off the couch as he dragged his feet toward you, planting himself in front of you and taking root. He could see the harsh set in your jaw, the small crinkle above your nose whenever you furrowed your brows. You were trying so hard to be mad at him yet failed to in every way.
His hand found its way to the valley of your shoulder, his thumb grazing the smooth expanse of your bare neck as his eyes dragged down your frame. You were donning some black sweatpants and a crimson sweater that said something corny—Merry & Bright. It was so like you in every way, and it served as no surprise to him that you’d pick something out like that, considering Christmas was your favorite holiday. “Every time I’m on holiday, you come over, and we end up ordering takeout, or you end up cooking,” he replied, the smooth timbre of his voice felt in your chest. “By that logic, those burned pans are from…?” He trailed off, unable to fight off the tug of a smirk at the corners of his lips as he saw the realization hit you like a ton of bricks.
A deep crimson crept onto your cheeks at Simon’s accurate analysis of what happened when he got back from deployment, knowing full well that you had burned the pans. “…That wasn’t me,” you murmured, bowing your head down to peer at your comically large bear slippers. “Wasn’t you?” Simon ducked his head a bit lower to meet your gaze, not allowing you to escape his gaze. The warmth of his breath fanned against your cheek, his hand stalking its way to the back of your neck to hold you steady. “You’re the only one who comes in and out of ‘ere besides me. Or am I just gettin’ stupid?” He murmured with a hint of affection, his lips a hairsbreadth away from yours. He saw the way you squirmed at the idea of him bridging the gap, your throat undulating with a harsh swallow. “Not getting stupid, you’re already there.” You murmured, earning a smirk from Simon.
“Mmm, suppose I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” Simon mused, picking his head up and breaking the tension by taking a few steps towards the kitchen, the bunched-up Christmas decorations in a cardboard box catching his attention. You let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding due to Simon’s proximity, his absence allowing you to catch your breath
“What’s all this, then?” He questioned, his hand reaching out to pinch the unsuspecting tinsel between his thumb and forefinger. He held it hostage in the air as if it had somehow offended him with its festive appearance, his nose wrinkling at the sight.
He hadn’t spent Christmas at home in years, not since being accepted into the military. He’d always busy himself with work and distance himself from any holiday that had to do with a ‘family’ setting. He knew full well he was welcome in your apartment, he received your Christmas cards every year and open invitations through phone calls, and it never failed to shine a light on a day that would’ve otherwise been dim.
But Simon had changed, gotten older, leaving fear and lingering growing pains in their wake, which wedged a chasm between you two. It was an odd dance that Simon participated in, both pushing you away when you got too close, but pulling you right back in when he felt you slipping too much from his grasp.
Your feet padded to where he was in the kitchen, old wooden floorboards creaking with every step as you settled at his side. His gaze drifted toward you, taking in the way your hair was tousled from running about in the kitchen earlier. The slope of your nose, the plushness of your lips—
“Oh, that? I thought we could hang up decorations around your apartment, y’know? We’ve… never done it before. I thought we could make some new memories for Christmas,” you said slowly, putting an abrupt end to his thoughts. You pressed your lips into a thin line as you gave him a sheepish smile, fighting the urge to chastise yourself for being too cheesy. Too forward.
Simon blankly stared down at you for a few moments, a sense of dread washing over him at the thought of his apartment being flooded with the warmth of lights. He’d have to wake up every single day with a myriad of colors attacking his eyes, an electric bill high as fuck, and Christmas looking like it threw up in his apartment.
He wanted to say no… no, he needed to say no—but fuck, if the hopeful glint in your eyes wasn’t there, he would’ve. He swore it. But he didn’t want to let you down, not after being away from you for so long. He couldn’t keep coming and going; you deserved better than that. He needed to be better than that—if only he knew how to keep his word.
“Yeah…” He huffed, which earned a few comically loud and enthusiastic claps from you. “Great! I brought everything over—tinsel, um… um… I brought little LED strips…” You stammered as you looked up to the ceiling to recall your list, as if it held all the answers.
A small snort erupted from Simon at your forgetful nature, his large hands coming up to swallow the sides of your shoulders as he settled them there, sending a familiar shiver up your spine at the sudden contact. “Don’t hurt yourself tryin’ to remember. We’ll get through the box… one at a time,” he reassured as his thumb pressed gently into your shoulder blade, as if committing the small ridges and angles to memory. His voice was a soothing balm to your frayed nerves, low and gruff from the horrible smoking habit he had picked up, but always carrying a note of familiarity and warmth to it. You quickly nodded, clearing your throat as if to rid yourself of your sudden flustered state.
Christmas decorating had started at noon, and it was now evening, hues of oranges and pinks intricately woven to settle over the sky as night would soon arrive. The only reason you could see the sunset was because you had so stubbornly insisted that Simon’s apartment was the ‘Bat Cave’, as you so eloquently put it. You knew Simon had a habit of closing off the good things in his life because a part of him felt as if he didn’t deserve them. As if he wasn’t worthy of being happy after the things he had seen and done to stay alive. He didn’t know what it was to feel safe anymore, not truly. Christmas welcomed a floodgate of heartache for him, and he still didn’t know how he’d handle it in the years to come. Hell, he didn’t know how he’d manage it this year.
You had Simon put on some Christmas tunes on his TV through YouTube, a fake fireplace crackling and hissing on the TV. It was a joke, really. Laughable. But seeing you so passionate about something and so hellbent on bringing him joy nurtured a warmth in him he long thought had been extinguished. The delicate slope of your back caught Simon’s attention as you bent over to reach some LED stars that were to be hung on the wall, the ladder underneath you steady, but your movements… not so much.
Your hands worked deftly to fish the star decoration off the floor, finally holding it in your hands with a sense of victory. You made your way to the highest step on the ladder, trying to go just a smidge higher, deciding you could go on your tiptoes. You felt your legs beginning to wobble, a sense of anxiety flooding through you before a pair of hands grabbed onto your waist firmly, a small gasp escaping you as you held onto the bar of the ladder. “Careful,” Simon warned, his voice stern but carrying heavy concern for your safety.
Warmth crept onto your cheeks at the feeling of his hands on your hips, your brain short-circuiting for a moment before you felt yourself be lifted and onto the floor as if you weighed nothing. And to Simon, you did weigh nothing. Simon gently retrieved the star from you as he made his way up onto the ladder, only needing to make his way up to two steps before placing it where you had marked for it to go. His biceps flexed with each movement of his arms to place the star in the right position, drawing a blank at the muscle mass he had suddenly accumulated in his time away. You were still reeling from the sudden contact, your mouth dry as he descended from the stairs with an almost bored huff, but he was anything but—if only you knew what you did to him.
“Looks…good,” He noted, surprisingly pleased with how the apartment was coming along. He had set up most of the LED strips in the living room, leaving only a few trinkets left in the box for you to decide where they go. The corners of your lips tugged into a smile, the apples of your cheeks still flushed a light crimson. And fuck, if that didn’t tug at his heartstrings.
“Really?” You grinned, the tone in your voice audibly softer. Simon nodded, something unspoken between you passing as his gaze settled on you. “Really,” he reassured you, his hand coming up to instinctively cup your cheek. Of course it was soft, of course it just had to be soft. He hadn’t touched you like this in years, if ever. His thumb gently pressed into the plushness of your lower lip as if testing it, the hitch in your throat audible as his blonde lashes dropped to your lips.
Fuck, it felt like coming home after a long day at work, domestic—like he wasn’t just some military pawn dealt a bad hand in life. Like he was coming home to his woman… his woman, whom he knew he loved. He couldn’t believe that after all this time, you were still in his life. Still the same girl he grew up with, still the same girl next door he used to think of when he fell asleep at night as a moody teenager, wondering if things would still be the same when the two of you got older. He watched as your eyes fluttered closed, hoping, expecting to finally bridge the gap between you two. His other hand reached out to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, a moment of silence enveloping you two.
But the moment never came. Instead, he let his hand fall to his side and away from your cheek, the moment between you two passing as quickly as it had come. The disappointment in your eyes was palpable, your brows furrowing into something unrecognizable. “I… have to go take a shower,” he declared before slipping away from you as he always did, turning on his heel to make his way into his room to leave you with your thoughts.
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You watched Simon escape into his room as if it served as some sort of safe haven from what just happened, your eyes drifting off to the weathered wooden floorboards underneath you. What had gone wrong? Was it all in your head? You could’ve sworn he was going to kiss you. The flicker of affection in his eyes was undeniable, the slight parting of his lips which caused your breath to hitch and stir something within your heart you thought was long gone.
You knew Simon had a mean streak of running away when things got too real—it’s part of the reason why he left in such a hurry for the military. Getting into fights with random men at the bar after what had happened to his family, hoping alcohol would wash away the bitterness he felt toward the world for what it had stripped him of. Dignity, a sense of normalcy, and any chance left at true happiness. But the responsibilities and aftermath of life had hit him harder than any man could.
You knew Simon like the back of your hand. Knew what was going through his mind after such an encounter between you two. He was scared out of his mind, scared shitless. You knew his heart, knew he cared about you and doted on you when he came around—but his actions in moments where it mattered the most spoke otherwise. It challenged what it meant to love Simon and what it had looked like your entire life.
He hardly came around anymore and always made an excuse not to show up for Christmas or any holiday where there was to be a gathering. You knew he arranged his schedule specifically to be busy; it didn’t take rocket science to figure that one out over the years. Videos constantly circulated on the internet when December rolled around of soldiers being reunited with their families, kids shrieking in excitement, or wives who were cooking a simple meal in the kitchen being suddenly picked up by their spouse when just months ago they had bid their husband a tearful goodbye. All Simon could do was supply you with half-hearted answers.
“Can’t make it.”
“Gotta do it without me this year.”
“Maybe next year, sweetheart.”
Excuse after excuse had worn you down, and when Simon finally caved in this year, you couldn’t be happier; you were over the moon. You had it all planned out—you brought over a box of Christmas decorations you had left over, and you two could decorate together. Maybe you two could even drive off to the store to pick out one of those snowman-stamped cookies that you bake in the oven, even though God knows they always somehow came out dry in the end. But you’d do it with him, because there’s no one else you’d rather do it with.
Sure, you had friends, family, even coworkers to hang out with—but they weren’t Simon. They weren’t the boy who found you at the bottom of the school stairs in primary school and comforted you when you were crying about how the boy in your class had smushed gum in your hair, causing you to have to cut it three inches shorter than you wanted it to be; you never figured out how the kid ended up with a black eye and Simon was absent for a few days, but you could guess why. When graduation had rolled around, they weren’t the boy you took a small trip with to a particularly rocky beach, pinky promising him on the weathered pier to always keep in touch after he had enlisted in the military. They weren’t that boy, because that boy had just slipped away from you as if it were the most casual thing in the world; as if he hadn’t just flipped your world upside down yet again, leaving you wanting and waiting.
You felt your throat threatening to close, fighting unshed tears that burned at the edges of your eyes, as if the man you loved didn’t outright deny your affections. You dragged your feet to the cardboard box you had brought over earlier in hopes that this year would be different. That you wouldn’t see the first snowfall alone this year or spend New Year’s alone either. It was different this year—just not in the way you had hoped.
You felt the need to occupy your mind in the meantime, anything to get rid of the humiliating feeling Simon had put in your gut. Your hand reached out for a bundle of mistletoe carefully held together by a red ribbon, your eyes scanning the ceiling as to where it could go—an area of high traffic, people usually put it. You grabbed a metal hook that had come with the mistletoe, carefully latching it onto the sprigs of green as you decided where it could go. Above Simon’s room, maybe.
You trudged your feet toward Simon’s room, hesitantly deciding to go near it after what had just happened. You didn’t know how much more you could take of this avoidance, acting as if nothing between you two was happening. As if it hadn’t been happening for years. But Simon was eerily good at that, and you wouldn’t give him any more rope to do it with. You wanted answers, no matter how you got them. You raised yourself on your tiptoes to place the mistletoe just above his door, hanging it on the frame until you were interrupted by the door swinging open to reveal Simon.
Droplets of water clung to strands of shaggy blonde hair; his stubble that had clung to his face now gone. Scars marred his face, some deeper than others, accompanied by the bridge of his nose that was never set right after being broken. Some from fights, some from childhood, and some from the military, but carrying flickers of pain nonetheless. He sported a simple grey hoodie accompanied by sweatpants, not caring for anything particularly fancy for such cold weather that always crawled its way into the heart of his apartment.
Simon’s gaze caught yours as you stood there before his eyes flicked upward to the sight of the mistletoe, blankly staring at it as he dragged his eyes back to you. You both knew what this indicated; neither of you was daft, but Simon had made his stance terribly clear to you that his lips were to nowhere be on yours, nor was his heart.
You turned your back to leave before his hand shot out, fingers gently wrapping around your wrist to turn you back to face him. You clenched your jaw in annoyance, your nostrils flared as you glared at him, leaving Simon to regret what he had so eagerly done. “What?” You spat out, unable to tone down the bile in your voice, leaving him winded for a moment.
He opened his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it before he could even manage out a croak. “You know, you’re a real asshole, Simon,” you blurted out, taking your lower lip between your teeth to chew it before mustering the courage to give him a piece of your mind. You two had argued in your years together, yes, but not like this—not with such open hostility directed entirely at him. He had a gnawing feeling you wouldn’t let it slide any longer, so to say he wasn’t surprised was an understatement; however, the look in your eyes gave him complete pause and filled his body with a sense of dread. You weren’t just angry—you were downright hurt.
“You always do this,” you hissed, done with being passive about the lingering tension between you two. “And I can’t act like there’s nothing here anymore between us, like—I’m supposed to just move on with my life when you’re not here, but suddenly pick back up where we left off and act as if everything is okay when you constantly push me away!” You blurted out, your hands trembling as you shook your head, your gaze lowering to the ground. “We’ve known each other for years, Simon, years, and you still feel like you can’t talk to me? I know something’s wrong, Simon, I know it. This isn’t you, this isn’t us,” you stressed, your lower lip wobbling as you threw your head back, hot tears rolling down your cheeks as you let out a shaky breath.
“I can’t be pulled and pushed at your every whim. I’m a person with feelings too, y’know,” you mumbled as a small sniffle escaped you, in utter disbelief at the situation and at Simon—how did you guys even get here to where you were tiptoeing around saying what needed to be said?
Simon stood there for a few moments to process what was happening, how your shoulders shook with unreleased sobs, still trying to keep it together even after you had listed your grievances towards him. His heart clenched at the sight of your tears, the knowledge settled deep into his bones that he put those tears and grievances from his own doing. Because he couldn’t deal with all his fucked-up shit, he had pushed and projected it onto you, the last person he ever wanted to get caught in the crosshairs of his mess. The person he loved and cherished the most but could never seem to meet halfway.
Simon didn’t want to unleash just how ugly he was right in front of you, didn’t want you to see that Simon wasn’t as reliable as you believed he used to be, but he had a feeling you already knew that. He knew he had failed you in every way, and the tears staining your cheeks only served to reinforce that. He had been continuously avoiding any chance at intimacy, both in person and on the phone, leaving you wanting more but always giving less.
His breath was ragged with each breath he took, his gaze heavy on your form. You reeked of insecurity, uncertainty—all feelings he only helped accumulate. He was terrified of telling you why he was the way he was—why he didn’t let you in when you so desperately wanted to be. But his fear of driving you away until you wouldn’t return ate at him more. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself knowing he chased off the only good thing in his life, the only person that ever truly mattered to him, after what he had gone through.
“I love you,” he breathed out, coming to terms with what he felt towards you. He knew the confession was a messy start—he saw the way your gaze grew wary of his admission, and he couldn’t blame you. Not after what he had put you through. Not after what he had done just moments before in the shower as if he were washing away his feelings for you. As if he was ridding himself of any shred of humanity and the only gift you had ever given him down the drain.
Sorrow plagued his features as his gaze flickered down to where his hand was on your wrist. He gently coaxed you to inch closer, afraid of scaring you off. Afraid of talking too low or too loudly, approaching you as if you were a wild deer cloaked in nothing more than your viridity. “I love you,” he softly repeated, his head craning down to meet your gaze, quietly urging you to meet his eyes. You begrudgingly obliged, turning your head ever so slightly to be met with the sight of blonde lashes fanned over his eyes. “I’m not a good man,” he whispered, his brows knitting together before he rested his forehead in the crook of your neck. “I’ve done… so many fucked up things. Things that would send you screamin’ and wishin’ you never knew me,” he managed out, the shakiness in his voice palpable, your eyes widening at the raw vulnerability in his voice.
He wasn’t lying to you; you knew he wouldn’t lie to you—not when it came to something like this. So deeply personal and interwoven with both of your pasts. “I’m not the same boy you grew up with. God knows I’d fuckin’ go through hell to be normal,” he rasped, his face moving to nuzzle the crook of your neck as he embraced you, clinging onto you with a grip that bordered on bruising. But he didn’t, cause it was you. It’s always you.
“I wake up to shit I’ve done in the middle of the night. I left for the military, thinkin’ shit would get better, but it didn’t. Just got fuckin’ worse,” he murmured into your skin before lifting his head to rest his forehead against yours, his hands raising to cradle the sides of your face in his hands. His thumbs gently swiped away the tears he had put there, a surge of anger directed at himself for getting you caught in this mess.
“Simon...” You began, your voice barely above a whisper. Even though you had only uttered his name, it said more than any other words ever could. You were here for him; he knew that then, but he sure as hell knew it now. He had poured his heart out to you, and you hadn’t run away, like some fucked up monster of anxiety had put in his head. Your heart leapt in your throat at the endless confessions that had tumbled out of him, your mouth opening as if to say something, but words failing to supply to your brain.
“I need to be a better man for you, I know that, I know. And I will, I swear it—none of this fuckin’ back and forth bullshit. You deserve better,” he vowed, not even bothering to entertain the thought of not living up to his promise to you.
“Sweetheart…” he shook his head, his heart aching at the way your lower lip began to wobble again at the nickname he had so graciously given you over the years. A nickname that suited you and that you wore well. Too sweet, way too sweet for him—but he wanted it. God, did he want you. All of you. “I’m sorry,” the warmth of his mouth pressed to the corners of your eyes in the form of a gentle kiss, the saltiness of your tears coating his lips without a care in the world. “I’m so sorry. For runnin’ away from you, for causin’ you to cry like this… for bein’… an asshole,” he conceded, repeating your earlier nickname you had given him in the heat of the moment.
You pressed your lips into a thin line to conceal a smile at his admission of being emotionally unavailable, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of making you smile so soon after he had hurt your feelings. But that grudge you had formed against him was starting to budge, the eagerness to make things right between you two softening your heart. He wanted to show you he could change for you, nobody but you. He couldn’t promise he’d be perfect; you both knew that. But he could promise not to hide anything from you and not keep you in the dark about what ailed him; it’s what put you two in this position in the first place.
“Yeah?” You questioned, wanting to hear him say it again, to which he quickly caught on. It was a rare sight to behold, Simon admitting he was wrong for once. His eyes narrowed into faux disapproval, a small quirk of his eyebrow as he breathed out a quick huff against your cheek. “…Yeah.” He murmured reluctantly.
“Yeah?”
“How many times are we gonna sit here and say ‘yeah’?”
“As many times as I want,” you retorted, to which Simon only shook his head in disapproval, finding himself momentarily conceding to his lady’s demands, especially after the way he had made you feel. “Well—I don’t wanna be here all night,” Simon sighed before his eyes yet again found the mistletoe you had haphazardly hung up just moments earlier, his gaze flickering between yours and the mistletoe. You quickly caught on to what Simon was urging you to look at, wrinkling your nose in disapproval, which earned a low hum of confusion from him. “You didn’t wanna kiss me earlier, we’re not gonna kiss just because some plant told us to,” you protested, Simon slightly leaning back as if you had physically slapped him.
“…Plants don’t talk, lovie,”
“Simon, I’m serious,”
“I’m serious too, get that checked out. Carbon monoxide poisoning, y’know,” he deadpanned, earning an eyeroll of annoyance from you. Simon’s hand guided your face to his, his gaze suddenly earnest and serious. “I didn’t kiss you ‘cause I was being a bloody idiot ‘bout it. Not cause I didn’t want to—don’t ever think that,” he said in hushed tones, pressing a few open-mouthed kisses to the corner of your mouth, coaxing you to believe him. Fuck, he drove a hard bargain. “Think what? That you don’t want to kiss me?” You sighed, your nonchalant façade toward his lips pressing insistently to your skin crumbling.
“No. Think that I don’t want you,” he corrected, the confession causing your heartbeat to be audible through your ears. All you could do was shake your head, not able to place your faith in yourself that your voice wouldn’t fail you. Simon took advantage of the moment, his confidence only growing with each passing moment that yours seemed to diminish. “Flustered?” he echoed, “weren’t you flustered earlier, too? When I was putting up that star?” He gently prodded, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke, a whisper of what was to come.
“No… I don’t remember. I don’t even remember you doing that,” you clumsily lied against his lips, something akin to smugness passing through his eyes. One of his hands moved to the back of your head to move it ever so slightly, the warmth from the LED strips he had put up earlier dousing you in its glow.
“You don’t remember?” He prodded with blown pupils that swallowed the irises of his eyes. “Let me give you something to remember me by then,” with that, he closed the remaining gap left between you two with a soft press of his lips to yours, swallowing your soft gasp as his hands traveled to your waist, settling you against him. Fuck, you’re all he’s ever wanted—all he ever needed, really. Years of stolen glances and pushing you away led right to this moment—him pulling you in and swearing to never let you stray from him again. Not if he could help it.
Your lips moved languidly against his, savoring every second on his lips he was willing to give you. The feeling of your hand moving to the nape of his neck and your nails dragging down his skin teasingly was enough to flip a switch on in his brain and turn the kiss into bruising and demanding. He squeezed your waist, feeling your soft flesh pooling between his fingers, finding himself mindlessly nodding in approval into the kiss at the heady feeling.
His tongue slipped past his lips as he traced the outline of your lower lip, the corners of his mouth tugging into a smirk at the sound of your soft moan painting the air. You knew he had you right where he wanted you, and you couldn’t even supply a quick comeback—not with the way he was kissing you like he needed you to live.
You felt yourself suddenly be lifted by your waist, your legs instinctively coming up to wrap around his torso like a vice as his hands scrambled to find the supple flesh of your ass. His hands firmly kneaded the soft globes as he kicked his door open a bit wider, uncaring that the slam of the door reverberated through the room. He planted you firmly on his bed, your back flush against his mattress as traces of his aftershave wafted in his room.
Your mouth went dry at the sight of Simon’s hands caging you in on each side of your head, a small yet content sigh escaping your lips as you felt Simon begin to press heated kisses along the column of your throat. Each one held a mark of possession—he wasn’t going to let anyone think they could have you, especially not after he was done with you. Not with the way he was hellbent on having you squirm and moan so prettily underneath him like you needed him to breathe.
You felt his movements suddenly still as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath uneven and ragged. You blinked a few times, your brows furrowing in confusion at the abrupt interruption. “What’s wrong?” You gently questioned, hiking your knee higher to nudge his abdomen for a response, your mind searching for an answer. “…m’nervous,” he rasped into your skin, wanting to find the nearest hole to crawl into at the admission. A lazy smile found its way to your lips before pressing them into a thin line, attempting to hold back your laughter. You weren’t laughing to mock him, but it was a new sight to behold—Simon Riley, nervous over something like this. “Why’re you nervous? You’ve seen me naked before when I was coming out of the shower that one time,” you let out a confused chuckle, which only seemed to earn a groan from Simon in response.
“Not the same, sweetheart. Not the same at all,” he sighed, “that was an accident. This is… fuck. I love you so much,” the words escaped more clumsily than he would’ve liked them to, lifting his head to rest his forehead against yours. “I love you, too,” you softly admitted, scooting yourself impossibly closer to him, your heart stuttering at the softness in his eyes at your reciprocation of his feelings.
Simon Riley, a man covered in nothing but sharp edges and points, could only ever come undone for you. Only you. He didn’t know how it was possible to love someone to the point of not even wanting to touch them. Just wanted to keep you close to him for a while and admire you. But fuck, he knew the larger part of him wanted nothing more than to touch you. He wanted to show the depths of his affections for you, how it seemed to border on obsession sometimes—you knew this, and you hadn’t scurried away. It was a game of push and pull he seemed to be playing with himself.
You could sense Simon needed a little encouragement, and you were happy to oblige. You let a few moments pass until your hand reached out for his, gently guiding it to the soft swell of your breast. Simon’s breath audibly hitched at the feeling, his gaze zeroing in on the way your lips parted with a soft gasp when he began kneading at the soft flesh. “No bra…” Simon mouthed to himself more than to you, his hand traveling down to the hem of your sweater as his fingertips dipped beneath your sweater to tease the softness of your stomach.
He slowly pushed the sweater up and over your head, your back instinctively arching as thin tongues of blizzard nipped at your exposed skin. You could feel his hardening cock against your thigh as his head dove down to the plushness of your breasts, the warmth of his breath fanning against your skin. Fuck, it’s all he’s ever wanted and more. You were gorgeous like this, hair fanned out against his pillow while you keened for more of his touch, your lips swollen from harsh kisses that were nothing more than teeth and tongue, and your nipples pebbling in response to the sudden temperature change. The girl he’s loved ever since she moved next door. His girl.
His tongue flicked out to lick a broad stripe between the valley of your breasts, leaving slick and spit in its wake as he pressed sloppy kisses to the underside of your breast before latching onto your nipple. Your hands flew out to instinctively rest on the back of his head as he gently suckled, the noises audible and lewd. “Simon—” you breathed out through a whine, and you could’ve sworn you felt him grin against your breast if the feeling of his hot mouth on your nipple wasn’t so heavenly. You felt a familiar dampness starting to coat your panties, and it was almost embarrassing how wet you were from Simon simply kissing and suckling on you.
You felt Simon’s hand begin to trail down to your hip, a hum of appreciation at the soft flesh reverberating against your breast as he gave the fat of your hip a firm squeeze before his thumb dipped below your panties and waistband, your heels pressing into the mattress to lift your hips up to help him take them off. He threw the bundle of clothes aside quickly, as if the idea of you wearing clothes at a time like this insulted his very being.
“Not fair,” you complained, Simon releasing your nipple from the confines of his wet mouth with a loud ‘pop’. “What’s not fair?” He mumbled, barely paying attention to your words, as his gaze settled on the plushness of your thighs. You lifted your leg to gently push him, the action successful at getting his attention as his eyes dragged up your body and settled on you. “The fact that I’m all naked and you’re not,” you chastised, no real hint of malice in your words.
His eyes darted between your figure and his, realizing that you were right. He simply gave a shrug of his shoulders, his hands trailing up your thighs and spreading them to be met with the sight of your glistening folds. He quietly marveled at how wet you already were for him, feeling a sense of masculine pride—he did that to you, and was going to do much more.
“In due time,” was all he said before he dropped his face to the height of your bare pussy, opening your mouth to retort before a slow lick up your slit caused your breath to shudder. “Oh, fuck—” you breathed out as Simon’s tongue lapped at your slit, gathering slick as his nose nudged against your clit. Your head lolled back as Simon gave a few kitten licks to your clit before blowing a puff of air onto the hardened bud, a satisfied hum low in his throat at the way your hole clenched around nothing.
His tongue flattened against your clit before taking it fully into his mouth, sealing it as he sucked messily. Two fingers found your entrance and slid into them with ease, curling his fingers and moving them fluidly into you. Your hands fisted the bundle of blanket just beneath you, your hips threatened to buck into his mouth at the pleasure before his hands settled on your hips, pushing you down to keep your writhing at bay.
“Interrupting my time with her?” He drawled out against your folds, your nose crinkling in response to his question. “Her? Who’s her?” You echoed, traces of annoyance evident in your tone before a small nip fixed your attitude, causing you to yelp in surprise.
“Your pussy, sweetheart. Can’t hear her talking to me?” He asked rhetorically as he steadily pumped the digits into you, the soft squelching filling the room. Your pussy clenched around his fingers at the lewdness of his words, your face burning fervently with crimson as his thrusts and suckles grew more insistent. He could feel you beginning to pulse around his invading fingers, your loud moans only spurring his actions on further. He feels you clench wildly around him accompanied by a high-pitched whine, the flicks of his tongue and steady thrusts of his fingers slowing to coax your intense orgasm into small ebbs of pleasure.
Simon raised his head ever so slightly from between your thighs to take in the sight of you fucked-out on his bed, your eyes closed and your cheeks flushed from your orgasm. He made quick work to shed himself of his shirt and any remaining barriers between you two, the rustling of sheets prompting your ears to perk up and your attention piqued.
His cock slapped against his stomach when he released it from the confines of his underwear, the tip an angry shade of red and leaking with precum. Your eyes fluttered open as you drank in the sight of Simon hovering over your naked form, tattoos veiling thick biceps and scars scattered around his body.
He pressed his forehead against yours as his lashes dropped to your lips, delicately placing one final kiss on your lips before he lined his cock up with your slick channel. “Beautiful. Y’know that?” He murmured against your lips, the slow drag of his cock against your folds eliciting a whimper from you. You try to ignore the embarrassment his words bring to you, shaking your head as you turn your head away. Simon chases your gaze, hellbent on not letting you get away from him. Not now. Not again.
“No,” you supplied shyly, not caring to entertain one of Simon’s endless hypotheticals. He doesn’t push the matter, though, only answers with a slow grind of cock against your clit before his head notches your entrance, pushing into you with one slick thrust. A soft gasp escapes from your lips at the delicious stretch, your hands coming up on his shoulders to steady yourself.
“Well, you’re gonna,” he answered gruffly, pushing every thick inch of his cock into you. He stays there for a moment, savoring the warmth of your velvety walls. Savoring the gift you so graciously gave him. He didn’t even believe in a higher power, but fuck—he’d have to thank God later for this.
He withdrew almost completely from your tight heat before slamming back into you, a raspy moan clawing its way up your throat as your eyes fluttered closed, your nails digging into his shoulders to leave crescent moon shapes in their wake. His cock rubs against your walls with each languid stroke, and you could swear each movement stretches you out more than the last.
Wet thrusts cut through the air as the headboard creaked with each movement, your pussy accommodating his length nicely. You take your lower lip between your teeth to stifle a symphony of moans that threatens to spill over, your action failing to go unnoticed by Simon. His thumb tugs gently on your lower lip, causing your lips to part completely as a starved noise escaped you.
“None of that,” Simon cooed, his hips setting an unforgiving pace, “you been waitin’ to take this cock for a while. Gotta let everyone know ‘s yours now,” he slammed himself to the hilt inside of you. He knew the way he was talking to you was nothing short of filthy, but he couldn’t help it—not when you made noises like that. Like you were nothing more than a woman starved of pleasure, and he’d make sure you get every bit and inch of it.
You couldn’t help the soft string of noises that left your lips as his thrusts quickened, finding yourself positively overwhelmed with the feeling of being stuffed full of nothing else other than his cock. A warmth coiled in your belly as Simon’s hand traveled down to your clit, thumbing it as the soft pad of his finger rubbed tight circles on the nub. He felt your pussy starting to flutter around his shaft, giving him the greenlight to cum with you as your peak neared. With one deep thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, his balls tightening as he spills every ounce of thick cum into your weeping hole.
Your orgasm slammed into you like a freight train, collective moans and groans shared between you and Simon as your eyes grew heavy-lidded, your chest heaving from the intensity of your shared climax. Your gaze settled on him as you looked up at him through his lashes, an action which tugged at Simon’s heartstrings.
You looked up at him as if he had hung the moon and stars himself. The tenderness in your expression was evident, and he was eager to return it with a soft kiss. It was a promise of more to come and a promise of your future rolled into one. He’d do more than just hang the moon and stars for you if it meant you could continue looking at him like this.
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Simon woke up the next morning to find you nestled at his side and making a home there, your cheek smushed against the plushness of his chest. His eyes blinked slowly, chasing away traces of sleep as he took in your sleeping form. You were beautiful like this, basking in the afterglow of your affections.
He had plans for you two. Wanted to wine and dine you as you deserved, making a silent vow to himself to call and write more when he was on deployment. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice, and there was no room for argument on that. But for now, he was content to watch how the filtered sunlight doused your silhouette in an almost serene glow. If he had blinked, he could’ve sworn you were an angel. Well, to him, maybe you were.
Simon pressed a few lingering kisses to your temple as he turned on his side to envelope you in his arms, nuzzling into the softness of your hair. He’d sleep in for today, he concluded. Maybe if he was feeling a bit cocky, he’d bring you to the party Soap invited him to and show you off.