#((yep))

been months apart. no signal for communication, just pictures of her in his locker back on base and an influx of e-mails about paying his credit card bill when he finally gets connected back to wi-fi.

she's banging on his door, he knows it's her. it's that poignant, aggressive bang of a fist that only she would be brave enough to do on his door.

fuck, she looks incredible. she's got a fresh blowout, and there's a new patent leather purse dangling from her shoulder. pristine black acrylic dior sunglasses that she slides down her nose to look at him as she pops a bubble of gum around her sticky, glossy lips.

she looks positively pissed. annoyed. absolutely livid. simon can't help the blood that rushes south; he knows it's all gathered there, because he can no longer think a coherent thought.

"where the fuck have you been, you selfish prick?" are the first words out of her mouth in the four months he hasn't seen her. her hand falls from around her sunglasses, and simon chokes on his breath when her palm lands on her belly.

her round, full belly. it sticks out from the midsection of her form-fitting dress. it fits her so perfect, outlines every beautiful new curve and soft line of skin. she taps her perfect manicure there, and then simon is brought out of his own head when her hand comes up and smacks him on the side of his masked cheek.

"hey! up here!" she snaps, and he looks into her eyes. "you have a lot of fucking explaining to do." she pushes on his chest so she can come inside, and the slight waddle of her walk only makes his cock harder. when he goes to follow her as she sits on his threadbare couch, she tsks and shakes her head. "where the fuck are you going? who's gonna bring in all my stuff?"