pryce

Gaz doesn’t particularly hate how he looks, in fact he understands that he’s actually considered quite attractive, but there’s moments where he doesn’t feel like he is. When his body aches after a long day of work, when his wounds are finally turning into scars. That’s how he finds himself standing in front of the full body mirror in his bedroom that he shares with you, running his fingertips over some of his scars. Deep dents in his skin, lighter than his usual skin tone. Some of them are raised and still pink from healing. Gaz tends to lightly run his fingertips over the raised scars more often than the indented ones, although one of his gunshot scars are an exception.

The cool wind from the open window flows through the bedroom and against his warm skin. The light-colored curtain flows from the wind, a barely noticeable noise from the fabric rubbing against itself. Gaz's eyes glance down to where a long, yet thin scar runs against his lower right abdomen; a hand to hand fight he will never forget. Gaz hears your soft footsteps coming from down the hall, but he doesn't feel the need to hide from you. He isn't that self-conscious, and he also trusts you with every part of himself. You enter the room and glance at him with a soft smile, confusion written all over your face. "I thought you went to bed, Kyle.." You murmur. Gaz turns his head to look at you before looking back in the mirror, his fingers tracing some of his own scars. "I tried," Gaz responds. "I kept waking up."

You hum from this information. It's not like Gaz has terrible trouble going to sleep, but it definitely isn't easy for him to do so. Neither is staying asleep. You walk over to him and look at his figure through the mirror. Your eyes trail to where his fingers are on his abdomen, and you keep your voice light and quiet. "How did you get that one?"

Gaz fingers motions pause for a moment before continuing, his own eyes scanning the scar. He chuckles from your question. That isn't usually a question people like to be asked, Gaz is no exception (because it's rude) but he knows you mean no harm. He hums before answering, his eyes looking over the tour of scars over his body. "I got into a hand-to-hand fight with some guy on a stakeout," Gaz starts, moving his fingers so you can see the scar in detail. It looks fairly old, a good couple of years old. "He was very drunk, blew my cover. I was in a bar I think it was, scanning the area for my target.” Gaz chuckles at the memory, at the details of the mission that he can remember. “I was going to bust a drug trafficking ring. However, the guy pulled out a knife and got me real good with it.”

You don’t respond to his words, but you snake your arms around him, your fingers brushing against his near where his scar is. You glance at him again through my mirror and you move your fingers to a different scar; this one is more jagged, like whatever caused it? It was definitely not a clean cut. Your thumb caresses the jagged and raised skin. This one is fairly new, maybe a year old by this point. Gaz doesn’t tell you everything that happens on missions, especially if it considers his well-being. It took Price calling your number for you to find out. Honestly, when you saw “John Price” flash on your phone screen, your heart stopped. You answered at the last ring because you one hundred percent expected a death call. You press your lips into a firm line before opening your mouth. “This one?”

Gaz’s eyes trail down to where your fingers are and his abdomen tenses up under your touch and realizing which scar it is. He forces out a chuckle that holds no humor or amusement, and he ever so slightly shivers involuntarily. Your fingers are tracing a gunshot scar, a nasty one. “I took a bullet for John MacTavish.” Gaz utters as your wrap around arms around him from behind. He can’t help but melt into your touch, almost if you’re two objects with energy and you’re taking away the negativity. Your warmth seeps into his skin, settling into the inner most part of his bones. “You remember him, don’t you?”

You’re rest your head against his shoulder/back area and you nod. “Mhm, I remember him. Soap, right?”

Gaz smiles softly when you murmur his teammate and best friend’s name. “Yeah, he goes by Soap. We were in a firefight in an enemy zone. Escaping wasn’t easy, and of course no one could escape unscathed.”

Gaz was not specific, but you never expect him to be. In his line of work, he must go through a lot of traumatic events, day and night. You nuzzle into his shoulder, smiling after you give his skin a kiss. “Well, I think your scars make you badass.”

Gaz blinks and a slight amused smirk rises to his lips. “Oh? You think so, do you?”

You unwrap your hands from him and grab his shoulder, leading him to turn around. Your shoulders relax from seeing his beautiful face and you can’t resist cupping his cheek. You feel his stubble scratch your hand as you caress his cheek with your thumb, the tip rubbing over the scar. “You’re so beautiful, Kyle,” You murmur, your eyes scanning his face. You love the way his nose curves, how his eyebrows naturally turn downwards from being at work so much, you admire where his lips start and end. You drink in his appearance like it’s the first time you met him. “You’re gorgeous.”

Gaz swallows spit that collected in his mouth and he lets go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding onto. He says nothing as his hand rests over yours that still remains on his cheek.

There’s no exception for Kyle and while he isn’t usually wracked with nightmares and flashbacks, sometimes a certain smell will randomly take him back, or his mind torments him right when he’s on the edge of sleep; or the opposite, deep in it.

Kyle never really let anyone help him calm down when his body went cold from panic, when his lungs forgot how to function and when he felt as if his heart would burst behind his rib cage. When he would feel the familiar buzz in his fingertips, the sudden weakness in his knees, he would excuse himself to the bathroom.

Kyle doesn’t see panic attacks as a weakness, no, but he just.. finds himself embarrassed. He doesn’t even understand why he’s embarrassed either, he doesn’t find it embarrassing for anyone else.

He doesn’t immediately let you help him due to his embarrassment. You know he suffers from these panic attacks, but he’s never once let you see him go through it. Until he had to excuse himself to the bathroom of a fancy restaurant; dinner with the team.

You and Price are the first to notice; you exchange wordless glances. Price sips his drink and gives you a subtle nod, and you’re on your way to the men’s bathroom. You open the swinging door and the room is lined with stalls, the room smelling of hand washing soap and cleaning chemicals. The speaker plays soft music, a song from a few years ago, probably. You glance around the room looking for any sign of him, of Kyle.

Your own chest is tight, your fingers temporarily going cold from anxiety every now and then as your eyes go over the bottom of the stalls, looking for Kyle’s shoes. You’re silent and you don’t hear anything; the bathroom seems empty. You sigh and you turn around, your hand reaching for the bar to push open to open the door; but that’s when you hear it.

You almost don’t, but you hear the hitch of a gasp and that’s when you knew. You quickly turned back around, worry in your voice. “Kyle?”

You find him in the biggest stall, the door cracked open. You slowly open the door and your heart absolutely breaks at the sight. “Oh.. Kyle!”

Kyle is a mess, curled up in the corner, one leg near his chest and the other spread out; one hand on his chest and the other feverishly grabbing the tile of the wall in an attempt to ground himself. He’s wheezing and hyperventilating, a crazed and dazed look in his eye as he’s thrashing around.

You immediately run over to him and it’s like you knew what he needed. Your hands cup his cheeks, your thumbs brushing over the skin. Your voice is low and gentle, looking into Kyle’s eyes. Even as you speak, you can tell he’s staring right through you. “Hey, heyhey- Kyle, what’s wrong? You have to breathe,” You breath out. “Kyle, look at me, honey.”

Why are you here? Nononono, you can’t be here, you’ll get hurt and it’s going to be because of him-

He coughs and his hand on the tile on the wall flies to your sleeve; his fingers gripping your sleeve. “I-I’m lookin’-“ Kyle’s voice is wrecked, laced with fear and sadness. You shake your head and bring your face closer to his. “No, Ky, look at me.” Kyle blinks as tears well up into his eyes and he focuses in on your face; now he’s looking at you, but he’s so.. far away. Your stomach churns at the fear in his gaze.

You guide the hand that’s gripping your sleeve to your own chest before cupping his cheeks again. “Breathe with me, Kyle.” You murmur, and you begin to over-exaggerate your breathing. “In for 4…” Shaky Inhale. “Hold for 4…” He whimpers for a moment before holding in his breath. “Out for 7.” Shaky Exhale. It’s better than before.

Your touch burns him and he can’t decide if it’s a good or bad feeling; his body is so cold, so numb from panic but your hands are like warm cookies on a December night after coming in from the cold, like stepping into a warm shower after a cold swim.

Kyle swallows some of his spit in the midst of his sobbing; he wants it to be good, your touch. He decides it’s a good feeling. Your lips are moving, but your words are still barely reaching him. “..nEed, need you-“

You press your lips to his forehead before pressing your forehead against his, looking into his eyes. All Kyle can see is you. All he can feel is you.

Kyle needs physical touch during these times, he needs you to completely take over his senses in any way possible. He needs to see you, touch you, smell you, everything. Anything to escape whatever could’ve triggered him, or just in general; you make everything feel okay for him. Your breathing exercises really help him and he appreciates that you guide him every time from now and in the future.

I feel as if Adler is stoic 95% of the time, you get blank faced Adler a lot. You will manage to rip chuckles and smiles out of him, but if he is hurting? You are the last person to know.

When it’s just you two, Adler definitely seems like his love language is acts of service and words of affirmation. Adler does not mind touch, but God this man has a hard time expressing his love. Adler has been through so much, and he’s trying to show you how much he appreciates you; through loving words and a good, home-cooked meal.

I imagine Adler doesn’t date someone in his profession, but perhaps he makes an exception.

If you’re a civilian, he leaves all the baggage at the door as you’re his safe space. Adler cooks you meals to make up for lost time. You really don’t expect him to know how to cook this well either, considering how much time he’s spent on missions

“What, you don’t have faith in me?” He says with a sly smile on his lips.

If you work for the government like he does, it’s not often that you two get to work together. You’re in different divisions, different assignments, different levels of security clearance.

But when you do get to work together, he treats you like any co-worker or partner. Adler does throw you longer-than-necessary glances often, but if anyone didn’t know any better, you two had no personal connection outside of work.

I don’t think Adler would be too big on pet names, but he would call you “Hon” on occasion. Saying your name is pleasant to him enough.

Adler likely doesn’t care for physical touch, but I imagine he doesn’t dislike it, either. He’s more casual with his touches with you; an arm around your waist, maybe leaving a lingering hand on your shoulder.

Adler hates cuddling when he’s trying to sleep because he overheats from other sources of body heat, so don’t expect him to spoon you to sleep.

Arthur Morgan

He isn’t really too affected by your accent, spending enough time in Saint Denis got him used to Italian accents. One thing he never got a good grasp on was your language; English isn’t his strong suit either, so don’t be surprised when you speak Italian and he questions you.

After Sean nearly blew your head off, you screamed, “Impara a mirare, stronzo!” In an angry tone. Arthur looked at you as if you had two heads. “Say what now?”

Arthur likes hearing about the different dishes you’ve had in the past, how different the food is from the States compared to Italy. Of course, there aren’t many differences, but some dishes that are called the same thing aren’t too similar.

He listens to your rants; your angry ones, your confused ones, everything.

“Lasagna here is very different than the lasagna back home!!”

He sees your reactions to culture clashes in real time and he thinks it’s a bit funny. When you greeted him with a kiss on the cheek and then did the same thing to Tilly, he was confused.

After you explain the culture side of it, he understands. Arthur lets you do it to him as a greeting and a goodbye afterwards.

Arthur is used to hearing Italian, but he never learned it as a whole besides the basic phrases. I imagine he never learns how to properly speak it, but he learns to understand it to an extent.

John Marston

He thinks your anger is funny. He thinks your accent is funny. Very very funny. Your accent tends to get thicker when you aren’t thinking about it, so he can’t contain his laughter.

John is used to your accent, but still finds it funny nonetheless. He doesn’t understand a lick of what you say in Italian, but he tries to guess by your tone.

“Vai a farti fottere, Dutch…” “You said what now??”

John is a little dense, so he doesn’t care much about the conversation for food but your family is very big on the food; you can’t help but follow in their footsteps and force John to try some when you’re able to make it.

That being said, there’s a lot of food you grew up with that he didn’t.

“What the hell is.. Spaghetti??”

“Lasagna?” — He complete pronounces it wrong as well, somehow….

When you first greeted him in such a.. personal way, he short-circuited. He didn’t know that you did not mean it in a flirty way until Arthur smacked him upside the head, teasing him. “Those wolves truly did eat all your brains huh, Marston??”

He never learns to speak your language, nor does he learn to understand it. Except when you swear- he knows what that means because I can imagine a lot of your anger is directed towards him when he does something stupid.

John is stupid and he teases you, but overall he enjoys when you embrace yourself.

Charles Smith

He, like the others, isn’t really too affected by your accent. Him and Javier are naturally more respectful to your traditions, your language, your foods.

Charles likes hearing your language. I can imagine he also has a problem, has a hard time grasping your language but it’s because of the environment you two remain to be in.

Like John, he begins to understand a lot of phrases. He learned a lot of Javier’s phrases as well. Charles can’t speak Italian, but he sure can understand you.. most of the time.

You have little patience for some people and it concerns him. Not your behavior, but he gets concerned for the people you get angry towards. (Except Micah.)

You two take some time to talk about dishes together and traditions. Due to how Charles was raised and how his childhood went, he isn’t the most educated on his own culture but he shares what he knows.

He takes the time to listen to your culture and traditions. Charles was shocked at your greetings, but he soon got used to it when you explained it to him. I can imagine you two spend a lot of time together, a unexplainable bond. As well as Javier.

After meeting Angelo Bronte, he joked that maybe you are also controlling Saint Denis. That’s when you explain the Mafia crime families that control different areas. (He’s concerned on how you know all of this, but he doesn’t question it.)

Javier Escuella

He is likely to have the least obvious reaction to your accent. Maybe a remark at first with a tease, but he knows how it is when someone makes it a big deal. Especially during these times.

Like Charles, you two get along pretty well. Surrounded by people who don’t speak your native language, who don’t share your culture and traditions, it’s pretty obvious why you and him flocked together; some sort of familiarity, even if you don’t share the same exact traditions (although they are similar).

Italian and Spanish are highly similar languages so I can imagine there’s some confusion surrounding some of the words. Your cultures are a bit similar which leads you to go down conversations of comparison and jokes about who’s is better.

Javier teases you a lot, purposely getting on your nerves. He knows when too much is too much, but in a way like John, he finds your anger funny.

It wasn’t too often Kyle was home for longer periods of time, an effect of being apart of Task Force 141. Usually, he was off on a mission or on base for something else—just something always relating to his job. That’s why he made it a point to be spend nearly every single second together whenever he had a day off, or like this; during his leave. It was moments like this that gave him happiness; the quiet sound of your spotify playlist whistling through the kitchen as you used your tongs to flip the bacon. Kyle loved when you made breakfast, reminded him of home; of you, when he was on base.

The sun shines through the semi-opened curtain that covers the window over the sink. You hummed quietly as you used the tongs to remove the cooked pieces of bacon and lay them on a paper towel that covered a plate, so it could soak up the grease. You grabbed a few more pieces of bacon with your tongs and laid them down on the pan evenly, the sound of the grease sizzling getting louder. You don’t jolt at all when strong arms wrap around your waist and chest, a warm torso pressing against your back. You feel his head on your shoulder, his rough morning voice filling your ears. “You didn’t wake me.” He whispers in your ear, making you smile softly. You couldn’t see his face, but you definitely could see the pout in your head. “I know,” You murmur as you lean into his touch, but keep your eyes trained on the bacon. You’ve had too many incidents of the bacon grease popping on your skin. “You got back around 2 am last night, Kyle. You needed that sleep.” Kyle huffs and presses a lazy kiss against your jaw, and then another up to your ear. You feel goosebumps raise as he does so. “I don’t need sleep when I’m with you, love.” You smile as you feel your face heat up; his flirting always gets you, even after being together for this long. “Oh, shush. Now that you’re up, why don’t you grab a cup of coffee and get the eggs and milk out?”

Kyle makes a quiet noise of acknowledgment but he doesn’t move yet. “In a minute, jus’.. need to hold you.” Sometimes Kyle just needs a moment to hold you, to process you’re with him and it isn’t a hopeful dream he’s having while in reality, he’s sleeping on a shitty tarp in a worn down house in the middle of a war zone. There’s no sirens, no explosions, no smell of gunpowder. There’s just you, the smell of your cooking, the smell of your home. Kyle couldn’t ask for anything better, as he’s convinced you’re the gift he’s been begging God for. “I love you.” He whispers, his tone fragile like if he speaks too loudly, his reality will crack and shatter back on to a battlefield. You hummed, murmuring, “I love you too, Kyle. Now get those eggs!” You push your body against his playfully to push him away, which he chuckles and lets go of you. He walks over to the fridge and rubs his eyes so he isn’t as sleepy.

Kyle opens the fridge and hums along to the song you have playing, a song he’s heard so many times now. He listens to it on base so he feels more at home. He grabs the milk and eggs, using his foot to close the fridge door. “Good, now crack ‘em and put ‘em in the bowl, honey.” You glance over at him as you flip the bacon, watching him blink away the tiredness as he sets the jug of milk and carton of eggs on the counter. “Yes, ma’am.” Kyle teases, bending down and grabbing a bowl from the cabinet below. He uses his foot to shut the cabinet once again and grabs a fork, and the. Kyle drags the trash can over to the counter. You laugh as you watch him, his face scrunched up. “You work in the military, yet you can barely handle the feeling of egg yolk?” You poke fun at him which causes Kyle to turn to you, his lower lip pouting out ever so slightly. “Hey! Everyone has their icks, darling.”

You turn back to the bacon and quickly remove the cooked pieces onto the plate like before and then you switch the stove top off for now, putting the pan on a different burner that isn’t hot. You put the tongs on the same plate and after that, you look over at your boyfriend. God, your boyfriend. Kyle Garrick, your boyfriend. You never could stop repeating that the time you guys got together; “This is Kyle Garrick, my boyfriend!”

You watch him open the carton of eggs and grab one, gently cracking it against the edge of the bowl. You watch the way his face scrunches up when he realizes he has to use his thumbs to properly open the egg and you can’t suppress a giggle when he squints when he finally feels the yolk of the egg against his skin. You love the way his features are, the way he’s so incredibly expressive about what he’s feeling. You love the small rolls of skin on his nose between his eyes, you love how it scrunches up when he feels something gross or hears something distasteful. You love the way the top of his gum line shows when he smiles widely, you love how his laugh bounces off the walls when he’s truly amused, you love how he looks at you. Oh, how he looks at you. Kyle looks at you as if you’re the only person left on this Earth with him, as if no one else exists. You love the way his body relaxes in your arms, as if he’s leaving his baggage of the day at the door. You love the way he flirts with you like he just saw you for the first time, even after a few years of being together. Kyle is so gentle and kind, despite his job and physique. There’s no one else you could imagine sharing a life with, and you’re sure Kyle feels the same. He kisses you as if he’s starving and you’re the only thing that will satiate him, he holds you as if you’ll slip from him any moment. Kyle keeps all of your letters, every time you send one to him on base, he has a folder in his quarters. When he’s lonely, he rereads every word, every confession you send him.

You quietly come up behind him and repeat what he did to you earlier, although your hands slowly go under his shirt, your hands feeling his abdomen and chest. You hum and murmur lowly in his ear, “Hey, pretty boy. You got a lover?” Kyle bursts out laughing, an intense contrast from the quiet sounds of his humming and the music. You can’t help but let out a giggle, but you try to stay in character. “Don’t laugh at me, answah the question.”

Kyle snorts as he tries to keep his hands steady as he cracks open another egg, leaning against you a bit more. “Mhm, I do. They’re quite smashing, I’d say.” Kyle responds, his voice dripping amusement. It’s your turn to snort, your mouth contorting to mock his accent. “Smashing!” You mock, not being able to finish your word without laughing. Kyle elbows you lightly. “Hey, now! I just complimented you!” He pouts but you roll your eyes, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. You arms wrap around his properly and you begin to pull him away from the counter, a yelp leaving him. “Hey, I’m not do!-“

“Dance with me, Kyle.” You murmur, spinning him around to face you. Kyle’s face held bewilderment before contorting to amusement, your arms wrapping around his neck. “Is your favorite song on?” He replies softly, his hands avoiding touching your shirt. “I still have yolk on my fingers, love.” You let out a soft psshhh and lean closer to him. “I don’t care, I can always get a new shirt from your closet.” You giggle softly, making eye contact with him. Kyle laughs in reply, his hands grabbing onto you and pulling you closer as you swayed back and forth softly. Kyle’s eyes radiate pure love and adoration; he again stares at you as if his sole purpose was just.. you. They shine in a way they only do for you. Kyle leans forward and presses his lips against yours, keeping the kiss slow and soft. Your lips move against his in sync. There’s no hidden agenda behind the kiss, no second-hidden intentions; it’s just two people loving each other, kissing for the sake of intimacy.

Your kisses are always something he craves back on base or during the missions he goes on, and he always motivated to come back home to you.

You gently pull away and his lips attempt to follow you, but your finger rests on his lips to stop him. Kyle’s eyebrows furrow in confusion and neediness. You smile and cup his cheek instead. “There will be plenty of time for that later, okay? We need to eat.”

After that night of hushed and rushed kisses with the taste of alcohol on your tongue, you haven’t been able to keep your eyes off of Gaz. Stealing glances at the man from across the meeting room table, catching each others eye when the other isn’t looking, everything. Your private exchange didn’t make anything awkward, in fact, it made everything better between you two. The air felt heavy between you two; something everyone felt but no one acknowledged directly. Johnny often exchanged glances with Price every time that feeling settled in between you and Gaz. You always had a habit of applying chapstick—you hated the feeling of dried and cracked lips, especially during a mission. Just because you were away from home did not mean your lips had to be miserable especially during the colder climate missions. Now that you and Gaz had your moment, he finds himself staring at your lips when you apply it. He watches you uncap the stick and press the pink wax against your top lip and spread it to your bottom lip. Gaz feigns forgetfulness in his head, because he so desperately wants to know what you taste like again.

You didn’t notice all of his staring, but you definitely noticed it when you applied your chapstick. Sometimes, you had the balls to meet his eyes and hold eye contact for a second two long; it always caused Gaz’s breath to hitch. Were you thinking the same thing as him? Were you craving his touch as much as he was craving yours? Gaz needed to feel your lips against his, your hand cupping his jaw, he needed you to leave your mark on him in some sort of way, hell, he’d gladly kiss you if you had lipstick on—even if that meant his own lips were tainted with your favorite color, smeared, fading under his bottom lip. Gaz would love to be drunk off your kisses again, he would barely register the way you would chuckle and use your thumb to run away the smeared lipstick from his lips—

“Kyle, are you listening?” Price’s voice cut through his thoughts and Gaz immediately jolts and turns to his captain with a bright smile on his face. “Yes, Captain. I was listening.” Gaz blatantly lies to his captain. In reality, he did not know a lick of what was said within the last five minutes. Price gave him a look which screamed ‘I do not believe you’.

He heard your chair squeak under your weight which immediately took his attention once again. Gaz watches you leave the room, giving him a glance with your hand on the door frame, dragging it along with you until you’re out sight, the last sign of you being your fingertips disappearing behind the wall. Johnny snorts quietly as he leans back into his chair as he watched Gaz’s attention be ripped from Price so easily.

“I’m sorry Cap’, but I have to use the restroom.” Gaz said with a rushed tone, rising from his own chair and heading out the door. Johnny and Price shared a look, Price sighing as Johnny laughed loudly, absolutely losing his mind from the display they watched together. “Fuckin’ kids.” Price hissed as he grabs the papers from the meeting room table.

Gaz wandered the hall he saw you exit the room to, his eyes searching around for you. Gaz felt pulled to you, like you had him on a leash, or you’re connected by a string and all he can do is let you pull him along to where ever you’re going. Gaz walks by a different hallway and a hand reaches out and grabs him; eliciting a gasp from him. Gaz goes for his gun as he finds himself against a wall, running on pure instinct until a pair of lips are on his; within seconds he tastes you and knows it just you.

Gaz’s shoulders relax from their tense form, pressing lips against yours so needily. The taste of your chapstick has him hooked again. One of his hands comes up and grabs your waist, pulling your body closer to his own. Your arm comes up and wraps around the back of his neck, forcing yourself even closer to him. Gaz let’s out a quiet noise that gets muffled into the kiss, although you feel the vibration through his chest. Gaz tilts his head ever so slightly and his other hand rests on the upper part of your back, as if to hold you in place; against him. Gaz kissed you as if you were apart of the necessities for survival and you went wild for it. His rushed and rough kisses made you feel needed, his gently squeezing hands made you feel wanted. Gaz takes a slow breath through his nose as he opens his jaw ever so slightly, deepening the kiss which ripped a groan from him. Your other arm slowly wrapped around the back of his neck and you leaned forward against him, and he was leaning against the wall, not daring to move from the position you got him in. Your heart jumps as he leans into your touch and your body; he welcomed you with open arms in this kiss.

You pulled away but not too far away; your noses brushed against each other, your lips parted as you quietly panted. He took your breath away so easily and you did the same to him in return. Gaz’s eyes flutter back open to look at you, finding himself falling in to the color of your eyes. You laugh so quietly, your voice coming out as a low whisper. “Seems like you’ve been wanting that as much as me.”

Gaz smirked, his chest rumbling as he spoke. “Much more than you think, babe. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you, about that kiss. Tell me..” He trailed off, his eyes darting to your lips and then back up to your eyes, leaning forward slowly until your lips brushed against each other, until he could smell the mint on your breath with the faint cherry chapstick smell. Gaz voice lowers to a whisper, speaking against your lips. “..Did it mean anything to you, love?”

You press your lips hard against his, keeping an arm around his neck and the other cupping his cheek. Gaz let’s out a surprised noise as you nip his lower lip with his teeth before consuming him into another rough kiss. His hand squeezes your waist again, his other hand coming down and going under your shirt to your waist. You lean into the skin on skin contact, his warmth enticing you to lean closer. A soft noise leaves your lips as your hand against his cheek twitched. With every press of your lips, Gaz’s thoughts slipped from his mind. Work was no longer on his mind, he couldn’t think of anything that didn’t involve you. Gaz pulled his head back from the kiss, gasping quietly before speaking. “W-wait-“ You pressed your lips against his again, giving him yet another taste and that was it for him; nothing mattered except for this, your lips, you, this kiss.

After a second you pulled away from his lips, panting. You can’t help but smile from Gaz’s shocked and hazy expression, his lips parted from the kisses roughness. His lips were shiny with rubbed off chapstick and some spit. “Did that answer your question, Garrick?” You murmur quietly, your thumb brushing against the small semi-healed cut again, just like you did that night. Gaz swallows and his adam’s apple bobs and it takes him a good second to register your words. “Yeah,” Gaz responds, his lips curling up into a smile as he looks into your eyes. “It answered it, alright.“

Gaz found himself chasing your lips again, giving you a soft kiss before pulling away, murmuring, “Go on a date with me.” You blink at his request—more so demand and then you begin to smile again, leaning close to Gaz’s face again. “Does that include more of this?”

Gaz chuckles, his voice vibrating your chest as he does, his other hand goes under your shirt to grab at your waist too, his thumbs brushing against your skin. “Oh, it includes a lot more of this, sweetheart.”