Chapter Text
Fuck.
Rage was a nasty thing. Where anger simmered, rage boiled over. Where sorrow lingered, rage consumed. Simon knew that this would bring nothing but pain, though that didn't stop the nasty sensation from creeping up his throat, paired nicely with bile and an excess of saliva. His jaw tightened. His fists clenched. He felt feral.
It wasn't fair. Wasn't fair that other men could conjure up flirtations so easily. Wasn't fair that other men could make your lashes flutter and your cheeks flush. You weren't his, sure, but maybe if he had the words you would be. Why didn't he have the words?
Simon knew how he felt. He knew he softened his tone around you. Knew he went out of his way to make you laugh. Knew his heart beat faster at the sight of you. But how do you put any of that into words?
This would all be fine if it was just sexual. He’d had his fair share of quick fucks, sure, but this was different. This went deeper. You deserve better than him, he knows that, but still he craves what he can not have. He fumes in the corner of the shitty pub. Rages. Watches silently as you brush drunken advances off, ordering a second round and swiftly carrying the drinks back to your shared booth. Your lips move but he doesn't hear a thing. Just nods every few seconds.
“Simon?”
Can't you see what you do to him?
“Simon.”
Can’t you see how he aches?
“Simon!”
He startles. He can’t remember the last time someone startled him. The fuck’s happening to me?
“Hm?”
“You okay? Been hitting it pretty hard.”
Your pretty eyes dart down. His gaze follows. Empty glasses that were once filled with a piss-poor brew are scattered around him. Shit .
“Guess ‘m just feelin' a bit messy.”
Concern dances across your features, a confused smile melting into a pout.
Fuck
“Do you need me to drive you home?”
You must be able to tell he’s about to refuse because your face hardens, insistence written all over.
“Alright big guy, let’s go.”
The car ride is quiet, nearly silent if not for your soft humming. The tune had been damn near intolerable when blasting through the pub’s speakers, though your sweet voice transforms it into something much more grand. His thoughts swirl as he watches the dreary scenery flit by, head pressed to the window of your car.
You’re too sweet. Too kind. It isn't fair that you're so good and he’s so bad.
It isn't long before you're pulling into his driveway, your headlights shining into the bare interior of his house. Price had encouraged him to buy the place, tired of Simon lingering on base when he should’ve been relaxing. He had yet to decorate, much to your irritation. “What kind’ve friend am I if I let you live like this ?” You'd said it with a teasing smirk, gesturing wildly about. Cute.
There is a moment of pause, the car’s engine rumbling to a stop. You turn your head, presumably to say something, though you stop yourself. He thinks for a second that you're trying to kick him out, bid him farewell and leave. You really ought to . You don’t. When he reaches for his car door, you reach for yours. You loop your arm through his while walking him to his door, as if you could steady his stumbling, catch his fall. Simon breaks contact only to rifle through his pockets, pulling his house key out and sliding into the door. Again, there is a pause, a moment of uncertainty. Your eyes seem to plead. When he turns the handle he makes sure to give you enough room to slide past him, shedding shoes and coats in his entryway.
Already the room seems more alive, your scattered belongings somehow ushering light into his dark little life. Few words are exchanged as you help him shed his outer layers, the occasional murmur of his name and exacerbated chuckle echoing in the foyer. He catches himself leaning into your warm touch.
Fuck
You manage to untangle yourself from his grip, nudging him away from the door. He briefly considers making his way to his actual bed, but quickly dismisses the thought. He doesn't want to scare you off and, honestly, in his squiffy stupor, the couch looks quite nice. He looks to you with his back to the cushions and his arms outstretched.
“C’mon then, pet.”
You blush, must be the lighting , and follow suit, making yourself comfortable atop his chest. It’s not rare that the two of you touch, though it’s the first time Simon’s been the one to instigate. If he could purr, he would. He’s getting lazy, not even trying to hide the way his droopy eyes trace the lines of your face. He leans forward a centimeter, an inch, two inches. He’s ready for you to jerk back. For you to scream. For you to insist that you always have been, and always will be, just friends. But you don’t do any of those things. You lean forward too. You close the gap.
Sparks fly as lips part.
Didn’t know it could be like this, I don’t think. Didn’t know it could be so sweet. So soft. Is this what all those lovesick, puppy-eyed recruits were talking about?
Thoughts slowed as the kiss went on. It felt like touching an exposed wire, somehow burning and numbing all at the same time, intensifying every feeling yet dulling any sense that wasn't focused on you . When you pull away, an unspoken tension seems to be cleared from the air, leaving only the comfortable warmth of familiarity and affection. Simon wants to say something suave, something charming. Simon wants to finally find the words. But his eyelids feel so heavy and you feel so warm and for the first time in his life, he knows he will sleep.
It can wait for the morning. I can wait for the morning.