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Uhhh...So I may have accidentally wrote 9k+ words of yaoi...
ummm this is like military themed yaoi. i'm planning on tackling some pretty dark stuff, torture, SA, its got a decent amount of angst in my opinion but also a bunch of comfort after...heavily inspired by some fics i've read. shoutout to mildlimerance's Acceptable loss...and Stinglesswasp's Seasons...
it's so cooked. I would love feedback, good or bad. anyways. here's the prologue.
0. Prologue
He stared at the figure curled up at the base of his bed. He couldâve almost mistaken the man for dead if not for the occasional twitch.
He was supposed to be dead though.
Simon could still smell the cold in that place, concrete splattered with blood and entrails, reeking of decay and rust. Some kind of mold had sprawled over the slightly depressed corner, a fuzzy black growth that was fed by the constant drip of condensation that gathered on the ceiling and the blood that drained there.
Days, weeks, months blurred together, marked by the only constant of pain. Worrying its way into their bones until there was no room for much else.
No one else.
A place that should have become their grave.
Yet, blood still sluggishly ran through their veins, and wet air filled their lungs. Feverish promises were made from one to each other, so they forced their bodies to eat, breathe and see.
And when they left, they left pieces behind that were filled by the other.
Simon always thought of Jaime as larger than life. Yes, he knew the man as a friend first, then character, but he drew lines and they just happened to fit.
A cathedral of a man, taller than him by almost a full head and wider too. Surprisingly fast when he chose but mostly lumbered around. A bit loud, stupidly strong and with an absurd brand of naivete that reminded him much of an empty headed dog.
A dog that got into trouble, snapped at anyone who looked at it wrong and lazed around whenever possible.
The same dog that clung to him now like he was some savior. But he knew better.
He wasnât even a dog person. Yet, he couldnât bring himself to push the man away.
So he stayed. If that was what Jaime needed, then he'd play the part. For him, he would try.
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So I have a timeline issue rn, so everything above is set up for the fic's present... but below is going to be the past... I don't know how to organize this but tbh I just had to get this out. I'm also debating whether I should just put this into a fandom to attract more attention...Anyways. the stuff below the cut is my first chapter of Delayed Primary Closure for the past. take the organization with a grain (a spoonful which is 6 grams) of salt...
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1. Bird
Simon didnât notice at first. Heâd just been enjoying his pint in peace, trying not to lose the third round of dice against Gaz.
Then he glanced toward the bar.
He froze.Â
â...What the fuck.â
Jaime, all 6â8â of poorly-wrapped awkwardness, was surrounded.
There were at least six guys around him. Noâseven. Eight.
Nine?
Simon blinked. Counted again.
Twelve.
Twelve men, all various stages of plastered were aggressively trying to buy drinks for a man who looked like he never stopped hitting his face against a wall as a child.
Jaime, for his part, stood there like a confused St. Bernard, a head taller than most of them, blinking slowly, visibly sweating, holding a pint in each hand and somehow accepting a third from a stranger.
Soap looked over from the dartboard and whistled. âBloody hell. Looks like the buffetâs open.â
Gaz, sliding back from the bar, stopped mid-step. â...IsâŠSergev being hit on?â
Simon didnât answer. He was too busy watching Jaime try to balance four pints with his shovel hands while someone leaned in and said something that made Jaime turn the shade of a dying salmon.
The man laughed and touched Jaimeâs arm.
Simon saw him flinch, just barely.
He covered it well. Took a gulp of one of the pints and nodded vaguely at something, like if he didnât move too much, the situation would go away.
It didnât.
A thirteenth guy slid beside him. Full sleeve tattoo, earrings, clearly very invested.
Simon stared like the scene.
Jaime, the man who once lost a fight to a doorframe, who had the charisma of wet concrete, who would rather be downrange with an AXMC 338 LM over having a conversation, was somehow the center of the pubâwhich wasnât even a gay bar.
They watched as Jaime was handed another drink. He accepted it, thumb running over the glass with the same expression as a bear trying to read.
Gaz stifled a laugh. âShould we, uh⊠get him?â
âWhy?â Simon snipped, voice coolly even. âHeâs clearly thriving.â
Soap was laughing now. âMateâs gonna drown in beer before he figures out whatâs happening.â
Simon didn't laugh. His jaw was tight.
Jaime didnât chase, nor did he pine. He had never said anything, never even looked at a womanâor anyone for that matterâwith interest. Heâd definitely never looked at Simon the way the man with the sleeve tattoo was looking at him now.
Simon forced a slow breath through his nose. Then stood.
âWe should collect the man before someone tries to take him home and mount him like a taxidermy project.âÂ
He weaved through the crowd, long strides eating up the distance until he broke into the inner circle of men. Jaime blinked at him, relieved.Â
âSimon,â he said, voice low. âI think theyâre flirting with me.â
âYou think so?â Simon held back a scoff, eyes cold.
âI dunno. They keep buying me drinks.â
âYes, Jaime. Thatâs because theyâre trying to get in your trousers.â
 Jaime looked down at the five drinks he was now holding like they were cursed artifacts. âBut theyâre free.â
Simon stared.
Jaime looked genuinely torn. âItâd be rude to say no, right?â
Simon deadpanned, âDo you even know where you are?â
Jaime glanced around. â...Pub?â
âNo, Bird,â Simon said, loud enough for everyone to hear. âYouâre at a cocktail convention and youâre the bloody booth sample.â
Jaime blinked. âBird?â
Soap and Gaz, who had followed, were already laughing.
âBird!â Soap shouted, raising a toast.
Simon turned back toward Jaime.Â
âYouâve pulled more blokes in ten minutes than Iâve seen in my entire life,â he said. âAre you paying? Are you drugging them?â
 Jaime frowned. âI think I just look friendly.â
âYou look like you sleep in a trench.â
âTheyâre being really nice,â Jaime muttered, defensive.
Simon leaned in, dropping his voice. âThey want to rail you into next Tuesday.â
Jaime went very still.
Simon watched the realization slowly trickle in like molasses.
Jaimeâs ears turned red. â...Oh.âÂ
Simon clapped him on the shoulder. âDrink up, Bird. Youâve got admirers to disappoint.â