#ghostgaz

Absolutely no shame about it either when he pins gaz down in the middle of the forest just to shove his face in the sergeants pits. Laughs at the way kyle squirms in disgust until he gets a knee to the ribs for trying to get a lick.

Despite both being in the military for years, Kyle and Simon have very different schedules while on leave.

Kyle wakes up at 5 in the morning everyday. Regardless of how much he slept the night before. He has to get up and run immediately, shower, then he can enjoy breakfast, because if he doesn't move, doesn't have a routine to follow, the stillness starts crawling under his skin.

Simon wakes up with the sun, slower now than he used to be. Learned, somewhere along the way, that leave means nothing has to happen right away. Eventually he peels himself out of bed, and by the time he pads into the kitchen, Kyle's almost got breakfast plated.

Simon comes forward to wrap his hands around Kyle. He's still warm from the sheets, faint pillow crease still pressed into his cheek. Bare chest against Kyle's back, arms sliding around, hands settling flat over his stomach, palms and fingers spread wide, thumbs finding the little dip above his hip. Simon's chin hooks over his shoulder, stubble rough against Kyle's neck, and he exhales long and slow.

"Eggs are getting cold," Kyle says, reaching for the pan.

Simon just hums right against his ear. His thumb drags over Kyle's stomach, feather light, then again, slower and solid. Nose tucked into the curve of Kyle's neck, breathing him in, unbothered by the stove, the smell of eggs, the fact that Kyle's still got a pan in one hand.

"You're heavy, can't cook with you slung over me," Kyle mutters.

"Mm." Simon's grip tightens, just slightly, fingers spreading wider across his stomach like he's claiming more real estate. He presses kiss just under Kyle's ear, unhurried and soften.

"You don't deny it."

"Wasn't tryin' too."

Kyle huffs a laugh, Simon feels it rumble against him. Kyle reaches for the plates and has to shuffle a little, Simon's weight following him like a shadow, feet nearly tangling with his own. Simon doesn't budge an inch more than he has to, content to just be dragged along, chin bumping Kyle's shoulder with every step.

"Sit," Kyle says, elbowing him gently. "Can't cuddle you and cook eggs at the same time."

Simon grumbles into his neck, but lets go slowly, hand trailing off Kyle's stomach last.

He drops into the chair, elbow on the table, chin in his palm, watching Kyle with heavy-lidded eyes that don't leave him for a second, soft and slow-blinking. A man with nowhere to be and no one to watch but this.

Kyle feels it—that stare, warm as the stove at his back—and glances over his shoulder to catch Simon just looking at him, half a soft smile tugging at his mouth like he can't help it.

Kyle smiles back, softly radiant as ever. He picks up both plates and carries them over, sets Simon's down first.

"There. Now you can have—"

He doesn't get to finish it. Simon's hand closes around his wrist, careful and certain, and pulls, and Kyle's plate barely makes it to the table before he's tugged sideways into Simon's lap, an arm banding around his waist to keep him there. Simon settles him in like he weighs nothing, chin dropping back onto his shoulder with a satisfied little huff.

"There," Simon echoes. "Now I have you too."

Kyle huffs, reaching for his fork with a grin. "Ridiculous."

"You love it."

As he smokes on a bench in the park, watching young men holding hands and laughing and bouncing around, he can't help but smile a bit. His back aches just watching some of the baby lesbians carrying each other this way and that, and he scrubs a hand over Toaster Strudel's head on his knee.

"This seat taken?"

Simon chuckles as Kyle drops to sit next to him. "Savin' it for my 'usband, ain't I?"

"Husband?" Kyle chuckles and drapes his arm over the back of the bench. "Sounds serious."

"e's my world," Simon answers, too sincere. He drops his hand on Kyle's knee and tips his head to whisper, "Great cock."

Simon, automatically starts square breathing. "'m fine."

He's not fine. Kyle's paid for them to have a very nice day at the spa, and he's panicking. There's soothing music playing from hidden speakers that may as well be claxons and gunfire, as far as he's concerned.

"Simon. Babes. We don't have to go in if you don't want to."

"I want to." He doesn't.

"We're just starting in the sauna," Kyle reminds him, like they're not gonna be starkers in a room with other people. "Just 10 minutes. Then a rinse and into the thermal pools, yeah?"

Simon nods. He does remember. And he does like the sound of it. The heat on his muscles, seeing his boyfriend getting slick with sweat. The promised relaxation of a nice float in cool water. But after...

"Don't want that little old lady to beat on me," he mumbles.

"Then you have to relax," Kyle reminds him. "Otherwise the only way you'll feel the massage later is if she beats on you. And didn't you feel better afterward, last time?"

He had felt better. Thoroughly cowed and oddly aroused, but better. Still, he says, "I don't want the mud."

"Simon. You love the mud."

Fuckin' 'ell, he does. He always feels so nice afterward. "I don't want the cucumbers."

He's nervous when he knocks on the door, but as soon as Kyle opens the door, his whole body relaxes. He looks warm and cozy in a light sweater that matches only one of his socks, and the flat smells like cookies.

"You're early," Kyle chuckles, pulling through the door and planting a kiss on his cheek. "I thought you were watching the game with Soap."

"He's got a bird entertainin' 'im at the pub," Simon mumbles, and he nearly forgets to remove his shoes in his haste to follow Kyle into the kitchen. "And 'er man. Figured I might loiter in the building if you needed me to wait."

Kyle laughs. "Not plannin' on breaking in?"

When things have been silent for thirty seconds too long, Kyle sighs and makes his way to the back of the room. And like every time before, he finds the new girl gagged and tied up in one of the changing rooms. Sitting on the floor in front of her, Simon fits batteries into something that looks like a pink seashell.