#jimstreet

—“lay you on the floor, heavy like the force between us”

SEASON 7x5 SLIGHT SPOILERS

Location: Hondo & Street’s House – Living Room to Bedroom, Evening Glow and Emotional Combat

It began with a growl — low, teasing, unmistakably Hondo.

He entered like a storm cloaked in warmth, boots kicked off, shirt half-unbuttoned, eyes locked on Street, who was gliding through the house in his silky robe, bare beneath, glowing like a deity of domestic command.

Before Street could issue another chore, Hondo lunged — lips trailing kisses across his neck, jaw, collarbone, relentless and playful.

“This is what you get for the slap,” he growled, voice thick with vengeance and affection.

Street, giggling, melted into the embrace, arms wrapping around Hondo’s shoulders.

He was lifted effortlessly and placed on the table like an offering — or perhaps the god himself, receiving worship through touch.

The kisses didn’t stop.

They multiplied.

They became rhythm.

They became ritual.

“Your scars are healing,” Street whispered, fingers tracing the fading bruises across Hondo’s chest.

“It’s thanks to you,” Hondo replied, voice low, reverent.

Then Street pounced — a full-body tackle that sent them tumbling to the floor in a heap of limbs, laughter, and silk.

“Oof, you’re strong,” Hondo chuckled, pinned beneath the radiant chaos of his Sweet Pup.

“I’m a very happy goddess right now,” Street giggled, straddling him. “Thank you for completing your duties. Now I give you my loving.”

Hondo pulled him into a deep kiss — breath-stealing, grounding, full of gratitude.

Street giggled through it, joy bubbling from his chest like divine springwater.

But then — a tug too strong.

The belly chain snapped.

“Oh shoot, I didn’t mean that,” Hondo said, instantly apologetic, eyes wide.

Street, already distracted by the affection, waved it off with a grin:

“It’s okay. I can get a new one. Take me upstairs.”

Hondo obeyed.

Because when Street gave orders wrapped in softness, they became sacred.

---

Later, the bedroom glowed with aftermath.

Street lay curled against Hondo, robe discarded, skin warm, breath steady.

Hondo’s hand wandered, trailing down until it landed on Street’s backside — firm, possessive, playful.

Street yelped.

“Got you,” Hondo said, smirking like a victorious lion.

“Bet!” Street shouted, flipping over and launching into a wrestling match with the energy of a divine trickster.

“You didn’t wrestle me enough, Sweet Pup?” Hondo teased, managing to pin Street down with practiced ease.

But Street, ever tactical, wrapped his legs around Hondo’s shoulders and flipped the dynamic — pinning him with precision, flair, and a sparkle in his eye.

Hondo, now beneath him, gazed up with admiration and surrender.

Not because he couldn’t escape.

But because he didn’t want to.

“You’re dangerous,” he whispered, voice low and reverent.

Street giggled, triumphant:

“I’m tactical. And glowing.”

The light caught the curve of his smile, the shimmer of sweat, the remnants of the broken belly chain still clinging to his hip like a relic of battle.

Hondo smiled, letting the moment stretch.

Because in their canon, even wrestling had choreography.

Even surrender had legacy.

And when Street pinned, and Hondo flirted, it wasn’t just play.

It was ensemble.

It was canon.

Location: SWAT HQ – Lounge Area, Midday Cuddles and Squad Commentary

Street was curled into Hondo like a cat in sunlight, hoodie half-zipped, belly chain glinting, legs tangled with tactical thighs.

The couch had become their throne.

The cuddle? Their ceremony.

The vibe? Mythic chaos wrapped in domestic softness.

“You know,” Street murmured, voice soft and smug, “you’re the most jealous man I know.”

Hondo, raising a brow, eyes gleaming with mock suspicion:

“There’s another man? Who are my competitors?”

Street, giggling, nose brushing Hondo’s jaw:

“No one. I’m stating an observation.”

Hondo, smirking, fingers tracing the curve of Street’s spine:

“You like my possessive nature. If I remember correctly, you threatened to put spice in my condoms if I had an affair.”

Street, eyes glinting with divine menace:

“And you threatened to turn the city upside down and summon lightning.”

Hondo, kissing his temple with reverence:

“You like my crazy.”

Street, giggling:

“I do. It’s tactical. It’s sexy.”

From across the room, Luca, blinking like a man watching a soap opera unfold in real time:

“So what I’m hearing is that you guys are both crazy.”

Street, without missing a beat, voice proud:

“Crazy is an understatement. I’d say territorial.”

Hondo, growling flirtatiously, pulled Street closer, arms tightening like armor:

“I’m crazy about you, that’s why.”

Luca, still processing:

“More like psychotic. I remember you destroyed an entire cartel operation and took down a cartel leader, causing almost 3.5 billion dollars in damages in his drug trade.”

Hondo, voice low and deadly, eyes dark with memory:

“He shouldn’t have taken my Sweet Pup.”

Street, snuggling deeper into Hondo’s chest, basked in the possessiveness like it was sunlight and silk.

He didn’t just tolerate it — he reveled in it.

It was his favorite kind of chaos: earned, adored, and tactical.

Luca, now looking at Chris for backup:

“Can you explain the insanity?”

Chris, sipping her drink, smirking:

“Love makes you insane. I think it should be classified as a clinical mental disorder.”

Hondo, stroking Street’s hair with reverence:

“A disorder I would never treat with this beautiful goddess beside me.”

Street, giggling, belly chain catching the light:

“I don’t want you to. I like territorial Hondo.”

Cortez, walking by with a folder, muttered:

“It’s not love. That’s obsession.”

Street, sticking out his tongue, voice playful and proud:

“Obsession for each other.”

Hondo, sealing the moment with a kiss to Street’s cheek, soft and possessive.

Luca, groaning:

“Ewwwwww. We’re in public.”

Chris, snickering behind her mug.

Cortez, rolling her eyes but smiling.

Street, glowing like a deity of chaos and affection.

Hondo, victorious and wrapped around his Sweet Pup like a tactical blanket.

---

Because in SWAT canon, even obsession had choreography.

Even cartel takedowns had legacy.

And when Street cuddled, and Hondo growled, it wasn’t just love.

It was ensemble.

It was canon.

Location: Hondo & Street’s House – Living Room Floor, Late Evening Chaos and Calculations

It started with a drawer.

Street, in search of batteries, unearthed something far more volatile: an old math quiz from high school.

Edges crinkled, graphite faded, the kind of artifact that carried both trauma and nostalgia.

He flopped onto the living room rug, belly chain glinting, robe half-tied, and waved the paper like a scroll of destiny.

Hondo, fresh from the shower, towel around his neck, leaned over with a grin:

“What’s this? Ancient relic?”

Street, giggling:

“Math quiz. I used to fail these with style. But I always made the teacher laugh.”

Hondo, sitting beside him, voice low and teasing:

“Let’s solve it together. I’m good with numbers. Especially when they involve you.”

Street, rolling his eyes but smiling:

“Flirting during math? Bold. You trying to seduce me with slope and intercepts?”

Hondo, tracing the graph with his finger, leaned in:

“Your curve’s more interesting than this one.”

Street, giggling:

“Focus, Daniel. You’re supposed to be helping.”

Hondo, whispering:

“I am. I’m calculating how many kisses it takes to distract you.”

Street, mock-serious:

“Answer the question or I’ll assign you extra homework. And it won’t be cuddly.”

They moved through the quiz — fractions, exponents, word problems.

Each answer came with a flirt.

Each mistake came with a kiss.

Each giggle came with a cuddle.

At one point, Street leaned into Hondo’s chest, pencil tapping his lip:

“You know, you’re the most distracting tutor I’ve ever had.”

Hondo, kissing his temple:

“Good. I want you to fail math and fall for me instead.”

Street, laughing:

“Too late. I already did.”

They reached a question about compound interest.

Hondo, smirking:

“Let’s say I invest one kiss per minute. How long until I own your heart?”

Street, pretending to calculate:

“Depends. Are you compounding hourly or emotionally?”

Hondo, pulling him closer:

“Emotionally. With high yield affection.”

Street, giggling, curled into Hondo’s lap, math quiz forgotten:

“Then you already own it.”

---

Because in SWAT canon, even quizzes had choreography.

Even math had legacy.

And when Street solved, and Hondo flirted, it wasn’t just tutoring.

It was ensemble.

It was canon.