Domestic

Epilogue

"Eat your heart out." Soap grumbled, standing across from Simon at the closet.

He was undressed, digging through his clothes and looking for something easy to put on himself. Simon was sitting on the edge of the bed, admiring him. Three months after the shooting, and the jagged scar at the back of his shoulder was still pink, but it had healed well. He still fought tenderness and lack of range of motion. And any time Simon saw it, got to watch him, he wanted to put his hands on it. And the rest of him. He looked tough and strong and healed. He looked beautiful.

"I just like lookin at you, Johnny."

Simon stood and went to stand in front of him. He helped him wrap himself in the button-up he'd chosen. It was a light blue, it brought out his eyes. He'd lost some weight, not being able to work out, and it made him look older. Wiser. So handsome.

"I hate this." He was still grumbling.

Simon knew he was moody because he was nervous. He buttoned his buttons for him. "We don't have to go."

"If you don't want to..."

"No." Simon chuckled. "I'm not the excuse this time. I want to go."

"Fine." He backed up and stepped into his pants. "But we have to remember the company we're in. We can't be all over each other."

"Well dammit, John. Why didn't you say that sooner?" He grinned. "We've been wasting time."

Soap couldn't help but smile with him. His family was a delicate balance. He knew they loved him, he knew they did, but he also wished he'd turned out to be the soldier he'd left them as. That he'd been more like them. But he was proud to show up there with Simon, not worried. Not on edge like he had been with Marcus, wondering if he'd drink too much or call people rednecks, or make Soap seem out of control.

They would love Simon. They would eat him up, the way he blushed when someone called him handsome and chuckled at stupid jokes. Just like Soap did.

"How late are we?"

Simon walked to him again, cupping his cheeks and making him look at him. "We're not late. We're just fine."

Soap stopped. Everything stopped. Simon had that power over him, and the sun was coming in through the blinds just right and glinting off his golden brown eyes. He kissed his perfect lips.

"Fine." He sat and slipped his shoes on. "I'm fine."

Simon strode to him and placed his hand on his good shoulder and pushed, gently taking his other forearm to make sure he didn't fall backward hard enough to hurt himself.

"Yes, you are." He took the chance to slide his hands under the hem of his freshly pressed shirt and push it up his body.

Soap chuckled, pushing at his hands. "We don't have time for that."

Simon pressed his knee between Soap's legs, wrapping an arm around his hips and pushing him further up the bed. "I can be quick."

He bent down and kissed the skin of his stomach as he undid the belt Soap had literally just buckled. Soap let his head fall back on the mattress, let Simon be all over him before they had to hold back. He didn't care if they missed their flight.

Simon slowly worked his pants off of his hips. He knelt and took Soap's half-hard cock fully into his mouth, palming his balls and giving them a light squeeze. Soap squirmed beneath him so he pressed his hand against his hip to keep him still. Simon sucked gently, running his tongue over his tip until he was fully hard. It took mere seconds.

Then he went painfully slow, having promised to be quick, and knowing it would drive him crazy.

"Fuck, Simon." Soap bucked his hips, trying to force him to go faster.