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For another night, the latest in a string he's lost count of, Simon wakes up in a sweat, heaving and breathless.
He dreams of fire. Burning in roiling flame that licks from his calves up until it washes over him, liquid. He jolts awake fever hot and restless, feeling like he'll suffocate if he lays still for even a moment. It's not a nightmare. Far from it. The wildfire consuming him every night is John MacTavish.
Alone in the dark he can give in, and hold on to the tingle that lingers on his skin for as long as it'll stay. It's never specific. No fantasy or scenario. The depth of this, the way he wants is so much more than that. It's the heady rush of being desired, the pressure of being devoured by hungry eyes before hungry hands. The taste of skin and the scrape of teeth and the whisper of breath on his neck. Heat, living, breathing.
That's what John is. A firecracker of a man, so warm and bright and alive. He could light up broad daylight. Bull stubborn, hotheaded and as intense as the explosions he loves so much. Hellfire made flesh. God, Simon wants to burn.
He doesn't remember when it started. The playful thing between them feels old and broken in like they'd been doing it all their lives. Lately though it's kicked up into a rolling boil threatening to simmer over them both. He doesn't remember when that started, either. He was so transfixed by him for so long without knowing it that when he tried to look away there was a spot on his eye that blocked everything and everyone else out. He may as well have been staring at the sun.
His phone buzzes on the nightstand beside him. No numbers are saved in his phone under contacts. He considers it a liability. But the number on his screen he knows by heart, off top.
>> Up?
<< Yeah
>> Roof in 5? I'll bring coffee
<< Sure
He's about to tell him one sugar, half a cream when the phone buzzes in his hands.
>> I know how you like it
Simon rubs at his face a few good times before he fumbles for his mask on the nightstand. He's in trouble.
Technically nobody's supposed to use the access stairway or go up on the roof unless they're doing maintenance up there. But Ghost has yet to find anyone willing or able to beat his ass about it, so he and Soap hang there some nights when they can't sleep. The stairs and door creak with the awful squeal of metal on metal but the cool rush of air that greets him when he steps outside is worth it. The floodlights in the courtyard are off and the world is pitch black except for the host of stars hanging above. At first he can't see anything but his eyes adjust, and he can make out a shape under the communications satellite dish.
"That was quick. You must've really wanted coffee."
"Or somethin' else," he passes, sitting on the cool, smooth concrete beside him. Soap laughs. Normal, it's normal for them. Keep it normal.
"I'm not that kind of lad. You don't get jack from me 'til you put a ring on my finger and a donkey in my father's barn."
"Better not get 'em mixed up."
He laughs harder, incandescent.
Ghost is so distracted he narrowly manages to take hold of the mug being pressed into his hands. Soap holds his own out, waiting, until he meets it with a quiet clink . They take their first sips together, basking in the sleepy quiet and dark of the early morning. It's peaceful.
They chat back and forth about nothing in particular. A little reminiscing, some speculation about the future, a bit of gossip. It's comfortably mindless.
"You goin' to that thing tonight?" Soap asks after a while. He'd forgotten. A party to welcome the charlie team boys back home.
"Dunno. Where's it at?"
"They're setting up in the south garage. Gonna be at the bar down the way, too."
"Sounds too lively for me."
He nudges him with his elbow and tsks.
"Come on, Lt. When's the last time you went out? I think it's about time you raised a little hell, yeah? Play some pool, have a few drinks."
"Trying to get me drunk?"
"Maybe I am."
Heat fills his face, right up to the tips of his ears.
"It'd do you some good to cut loose. I'm not saying shoot for WorldStar but have some fun."
"For what?"
"Christ, you're old."
It's quiet again, but not like before. This quiet is electric, buzzing down the back of his neck. It shocks him once too many.
"Are you going?"
Snapping, sparking.
"I was thinking about it. But if you're not going I think I'll just-"
Crackling static. Lighting about to strike.
"Do you want me to go?" He pauses to swallow his nerves. "Do you want me to go with you?"
The beat that passes is years of waiting for Soap to speak. The hair on the back of his neck stands on end.
"Are you asking me out?" He's unreadable in the dark. His tone is nebulous, leaving room to play it as a joke but clearly a question wanting an answer. Ghost knows he should respond in kind but he can still feel the tingle on his skin from earlier and it clouds his judgment.
"I'm asking if you're asking me."
"Well, if I'm asking you and you're asking me then who's driving this thing?"
It's a joke. So, he laughs. The electricity passes. The edges of the horizon have brightened and the sun's preparing to climb into the sky. Something's unsettled in him, though. He can't do this again. Go through another round of moments like this coming and going, and then burning all night long. He can't burn anymore. Not alone.
"I will. Drive, I mean. If you wanna go to the bar. I'll drive us."
Though the mounting light is dusky at best he can just make out the form of Soap's features. He looks like he's holding his breath.
"Nah. It's not that far. About a fifteen minute walk from here. You could walk with me."
"Alright."
“Alright.”
It doesn’t feel real watching Johnny get up, backed by the sunrise. It’s still cool out but he feels so hot.
“Meet you at 7.”
He’s not asking. He’s promising.
Anything could have happened between then and 6:30. Simon couldn’t tell. He floated on air all day, from paperwork to emails, through drills and meetings and conversations. He thinks he spoke to Price at some point. Or maybe it was Alex? Then there’s the vague sense of slamming a body into a mat. It’s possible he did combat training, sure. It was all a blur, all killing time until he could start getting ready. A hot shower - he even washes his hair. Even puts on lotion . A light scent, something like sandalwood or cedar is about all he can stand but tonight he has to smell his best. He puts on his most casual and outgoing of masks, a gaiter that leaves his ears and hair and even the bridge of his nose exposed. It’s as flirty and risque for him as a slit up the thigh and a plunging bust. It says look at me, Johnny. He takes it right back off. He can’t come on that strong. It might make it seem like he’s trying to back him into a corner. Or would it make his intentions more clear? Maybe he’ll wear a hat too, just to keep things chaste.
He looks into his own eyes in the mirror and feels like a right fool.
It’s Johnny. He’s fretting like some sweatstained prom date over Johnny. He could meet him out front covered in someone else’s blood and he wouldn’t bat an eye. Simon puts the gaiter back on, rolls the sleeves of his jacket up to the elbow and heads out.
There are already people milling around outside, some heading down the road to the garage, some out to the well-passed trail to the bar. Music is filtering through the air, the sun is setting. It’s lively and bright, almost-
“Beat me here, huh?”
Electric.
Soap is in exactly what he always wears: jeans and a shirt so tight it’s begging for mercy. He’s perfect.
“Where d’you think you’re going, half naked like that? Cowlick out for the world to see,” he teases.
“Might as well show it off before I start balding.”
He laughs, because he always does.
“Wanna head to the garage first and grab a drink for the road?”
“Pregaming the pregame?”
“I’m as much an alcoholic as any god-fearing Scot.”
“Can’t deny you your cultural practices, can I? Lead the way.”
A stream of people are walking from the dormitories to the garages, all of them marching like ants. Nobody’s in a hurry, just a steady cruise in the dimming dusk.
“You smell good,” Johnny comments. It catches him completely off guard.
“Little hot water works miracles.” He means to keep things low and slow–
“Nah.”
–but it’s clear Johnny has other plans.
“Like cologne. What is that?”
And as they walk he leans bodily into him, pressing his whole nose against his bicep and huffing a deep breath. It takes conscious effort to keep putting one foot in front of the other in the right order.
“Smells woodsy. I like it.”
“I’ll give you the rest of the bottle.”
“I’d rather smell it on you.”
He’d been avoiding looking at him until now when he couldn't resist a second more. He catches just a second, a heartbeat of a coy side-eye and the bat of lashes before it’s gone, and Johnny is off to the next thing on his mind. For the first time he well and truly considers that coming on too strong could be the least of his worries.
An ATV rattles by carrying a few people and a hell of a lot more coolers. It slows to a stop just ahead of them.
“Lieutenant! We didn’t expect to see you out here. Want a ride?” Nobody can blame recruits for trying to get on as many good sides as possible.
“Negative. Appreciate it, though.”
Just as quickly as it came it’s gone, the recruits waving as it shrinks into the distance.
“Should have taken it. You could’ve gotten there before they run out of the good stuff.”
“Nah.” The return is familiar. He’s got the same opportunity, and he takes it. “Got good stuff right here.”
Johnny is visibly surprised but it warms and sweetens into mischief on his face.
“That so? When we get to that bar and I hand you your ass at darts again we’ll see how good you think it is.”
“We surely will, Johnny.”
This is a first for them. So far their flirting and playing has been aimless, light enough to be passed off as good fun. This feels like intention. It’s weighty and thick, hanging over them like a wet blanket. Wet and hot–
“Careful. Talk like that to me and I’ll hold you to it.”
“Quote me, then.”
This garage is almost always empty. Any night but tonight. Tonight it’s filled with people drinking and dancing. Sergeants swinging giggling medics around, higher ups content to hold up the wall with a cold beer and a smoke. Ghost would belong there with them, if there wasn’t somewhere else he belonged.
“I know you don’t wanna go in.”
It’s true. He doesn’t want to make himself known as willing to tolerate social events.
“Grab me-”
“A Stella. I know.”
He slips into the fray, and Simon stands in there in the silent and complete awe of being known.
It’s not hard to track him bobbing and weaving through the crowd. Every few feet someone recognizes him and claps him on the shoulder, throws a wave from across the room. Johnny is fairly popular on base and it comes as no surprise. It does, however, come with a jealousy he knows he’s not entitled to. People are reaching for him, touching him, being touched back in turn. Heinous. From the distance he can just barely make out the shape of his mouth moving, talking to the people standing with the coolers. He bends to root around in the ice and Ghost is blessed with the denim clinging to him. The moment spoils when he realizes he’s not the only one. There’s a man stood behind him, getting his own eyeful. Bloodlust, red, hot craving for violence and destruction–
Soap stands, and when he turns he startles to see the man behind him but smiles right after. He knows him. The song that’s been blaring ends, and the next starts, quieter. Enough for him to strain out what he’s saying.
“...didn’t know…here tonight.”
“Yeah, thought…good time.”
They chat back and forth while he pops the caps on the drinks. Friendly. Familiar. It’s torture to watch.
“...out so soon?”
“...down to the bar…back up…tonight.”
And whether by miracle or curse he hears the next line in full clarity.
“Save me a dance, wontcha?”
He’s not sure how he expects Johnny to respond. He’s not sure what he’s allowed to expect. None of his expectations matter, though, because he laughs–
“Sure, man.”
–and weaves back through the crowd outside to Ghost.
Every dark cloud possible settles in his chest. Doubt and jealousy, the fear that he missed his chance.
“Let’s get a move on, yeah?
Dusk has fallen so quickly that it’s nearly dark by the time they make it to the edge of base. The way there is a backwoods trail, off the main road. Johnny hands him his beer, unaware of the turmoil going on in his head. He holds his own out, waiting. Still distracted Simon clinks his bottle against it and takes a drink without a second thought. They both retch immediately. He’s only had Heineken once before and it was once too many. Clearly Johnny feels the same way about Stella.
“Fuckin’ hell, how do you drink this? Tastes like gun oil.”
And Simon is so far into his own head he doesn’t really notice that they switch bottles, or that the mouth of the beer that should have been his tastes like Johnny’s lips.
“That why I’ve been running out? Been sipping?”
It’s hollow, more force of habit to respond to him than anything. Just a moment ago he was so sure of himself. So sure that this night would go the way he’s seen it going in his dreams. It felt like Johnny was already his. He wasn’t expecting a reality check so soon. Suddenly the crunch of the gravel under his boots sounds like whispers, seeds of doubt rooting in his mind.
“Yeah, blame me. I’ve seen how generous you are oiling your gun.” And then quietly, half under his breath, “Or at least I’d like to.”
Simon doesn’t notice.
“Who was that?”
Soap is confused for a beat.
“Who?”
“Fella in the garage. He knew you.”
“Oh, he’s up in records. Traded a couple favors a while back and now we talk every now and again. He’s good people.”
Traded favors. Traded favors? That could mean anything and it’s killing him. He’s been laying awake at night sweating and begging for the chance, just a sliver of opportunity and he could have already lost it all because some desk jockey wanted to save a few stacks of paperwork. That’s not fair, he knows it’s not. He’s being expressly unfair and he’s just fine with that right now.
“Simon?”
“Hmm?”
“Get lost at the bottom of the bottle? I’m talking to you.”
“Sorry. Thinking too hard.”
“Uh huh. What about?”
You. I want you so damn badly I might explode-
“You.” He chokes on his beer. He wasn’t actually supposed to say that. “Hoping you don’t get us kicked out of this bar.”
Soap seems to take it in stride.
“Nah, I only misbehave when the occasion calls for it. I won’t act up tonight unless you make me.”
And his persistence is a blessing and a curse. He can’t tell anymore if he wants this, if he’s pushing and waiting for Simon to push back or if this is just his idea of fun. If he trades banter like this with Mr. Records. It’s not personal, not all about him. It could be anyone stealing Johnny’s attention away. If that’s the case, and if he’s really that worried he should do something. He should stop them in their tracks and take him by the shoulders and tell him how deeply he feels for him. How he’s been burning just dreaming of being with him. How he wants to burn, but this time awake.
“You’re really hung up on that, aren’t you?”
“Huh?”
It’s a bad way to learn that Johnny had been talking to him this whole time.
“Lucas. It bothered you that he talked to me.”
So Mr. Records has a name.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Really, he doesn’t know why he’s lying. Johnny can pick the needles from his haystack like it’s nothing. Any emotion, anything irking him. It’s light work for him.
“Alright. Whatever you say.”
And surprisingly, he drops it. Doesn’t bring it up, doesn’t flirt anymore the whole rest of the walk. It’s torture.
By the time they make it there the night is in full swing. There are people packed onto the tiny dance floor, lined up at the bar, stood back against the walls. It’s a full house; not usually Simon’s style. But Johnny’s eyes light, and he starts to sway to the country music flooding out of the speakers.
It looks like there’ll be nowhere for them to sit or even stand, but just as they reach the bar a couple in the corner slink off their stools and down the hall toward the bathroom.
“Lad got lucky, and so did we,” Soap comments. It’s clear more than a few people wanted the seats but none of them were willing to tangle with Ghost to get them.
“Lucky, huh?”
Seeing him like this, glowing and warm bobbing his head to the music, just a bit buzzed from their beer on the way chases Simon’s apprehension away. It makes his want scream louder than his fear. He can’t help but stare at the toned muscle of his neck as he orders shots from the bartender.
“Think it’s a good omen for the rest of the night?”
Johnny looks back at him through his lashes, and if he didn’t know any better he’d say he was glad to hear him off the subject of Mr. Lucas Records.
“You tell me. Dunno if I feel any luckier.”
“Do you want to?”
And Johnny is molten beside him, taking his first shot of the night holding his eyes, leaned back against the wall. Open, inviting. Saying take me right here with everything but his mouth. God, does he want to. Simon wants to ignore every one of the hundred-fifty other bodies in the bar and lavish his attention on Johnny’s. No sooner than he inhales to say just as much the song changes to a line dance that he doesn’t know but clearly Johnny does.
“No sense shakin’ my ass sober.”
He slams his other shot and jumps down from his stool.
“Catch you in a bit.” He turns to go but looks back at him. “I better not catch anyone in my seat.” And he’s gone.
Not that anyone but him would want to be sandwiched between Simon’s broad shoulders and the grimy bar wall.
He catches glimpses of him as the song goes on, moving in and out of line with the steps of the dance. Every so often he’ll peer back over his shoulder to make sure he’s still watching — he couldn’t stop if he tried — and deepen the roll in his hips and the sway in his step. Ghost has to take a shot to occupy his mouth and swallow the groan built in his throat. They’ve never gotten this far. It’s like all this time they’ve backed down before they could get here. But not tonight. Whatever got into him on that roof changed things and now it’s time. He knows it is. After this, they’re made or broken. Everything or nothing. It’s almost definitely past due, but it never hurt to let it burn a little longer. The song ends, and the bar claps and cheers for the dancers. Johnny’s coming back, and he’s counting the seconds until he’s close enough to get his hands on. Someone stops him, though. The waitress. She’s handing him a drink and pointing somewhere on the other side of the bar. A stranger, too obscured by the dim lights and haze of smoke to see clearly raises their glass when he turns to look. Sweet thing, ray of sunshine that he is Johnny smiles big as all outdoors and nods appreciatively, and comes right back to Ghost.
“Look, Si. Free drink!”
“Guess someone liked what they saw.” Too late he recognizes sulking in his own voice.
“I’m hoping it wasn’t just them.”
And it’s so obvious, clear as day how he’s trying to fall back in. He’s even right back up against the wall the way he was before the dance floor called his name. His eyes are roaming from Simon’s lips to his chest and arms, all over, undressing as they go. It’s blatant in a way it’s never been before. Simon should be finishing his shot and taking him home, damn that they just got there. But that same seed of doubt from before is back and sprouting with a vengeance. Why would he want Simon when it’s apparent that he could have just about anyone he wanted? There’s not a room he could walk into that he wouldn’t light up, he could have anyone. If he wants him tonight, because he’s tipsy and bothered from all the flirting it’s understandable. But Simon is greedy. He wants what isn’t his. If he gets tonight he’ll want tomorrow, and what’s the difference between two nights and the rest of his life?
For the first time he notices the drink Johnny’s ignoring in favor of eye fucking him. He’s no bartender, but he knows an expensive drink when he sees one.
“Had to cost a pretty penny,” he says, nodding to the drink. “Probably looking for a return on the investment.”
“We all gotta lose sometime,” Johnny sighs. Emboldened by the drinks or the flirting or maybe the thud of the filthy bassline of some song pumping through the bar he strokes the back of his fingers across the tattoo on Simon’s forearm, mindless. Ice and fire and lightning all run down every nerve in that half of his body at just the gentle and thoughtless brush of Johnny’s skin against his own. It sobers and intoxicates him all at the same time.
Simon sighs in return, shaky. He’s trying so hard to let him out. To tell him he doesn’t have to settle. He wants to keep him for himself more than anything in the world. But he also cares far too much for him to keep him from finding happiness.
“You could, you know. Go say thanks. Wouldn’t bother m-"
“For fuck’s sake, Simon. Enough!”
He’s loud enough to be heard even over the din of the bar. There’s a beat of staring, immediately replaced by everyone very intentionally minding their own business. All except Simon himself, who is still staring.
He’s not sure what to say. He’s prepared to sit there, stunned until something comes to mind but Johnny slips off his seat and storms out to the empty patio. It’s possible he should leave him alone. It’s just that the second he leaves he takes all of the air with him. He’s got no choice but to follow him. Simon swears he’s never seen people move out of his way so fast, even counting times he was carrying a rifle.
The air’s gone cold, too cold to comfortably sit outside. It leaves Johnny the whole length of the patio to pace unimpeded. Simon opens his mouth to say something. What exactly, he doesn’t know. Thankfully Johnny doesn’t give him the chance.
“Why do you keep doing this to me? Lead me on, key me up and then drop me like the fun’s run out? Is this some kind of game for you?”
He’s never been more confused in his life.
“Don’t look at me like that, you know damn well what I’m talking about. All these months you’d start in, make me think you wanted me and then leave me hanging. And then all of a sudden, last night it looked like you were finally serious, just to yank me around now? All night I’ve practically been begging– You haven’t even tried–”
He huffs, tangled up in his own anger.
“Admit it, Simon. I’m just a toy to you. Damn my feelings, how bad I– Forget it.”
And Johnny’s turning. Leaving. There’s thunder in his footsteps. Lightning in his eyes.
“Why?”
It confuses them both, enough to make him pause in his tracks.
“Why what?”
“Why would you want me? Why?”
“Come off it-”
“I’m serious. You said you thought I was serious, finally serious. I am. I always was. Always have been. Why me?”
“Why me, Simon? Answer that first.”
“You want it itemized? I’ve never met anyone like you, Johnny. Not a soul.”
And his skin starts to crawl at the prospect of being as vulnerable as he plans to be but he defies it.
“You’re... Warm. All warm, inside and out. Warm and bright. Beautiful. I… I want to be close to you. Nobody’s ever made me feel– I’ve never looked at someone and felt–”
And he wants to continue the thought, only he finds that it’s complete. Nobody’s ever made him feel. Anything. Not until Johnny.
“So why play the games, then? Why not tell me–”
“Why would you want me? Why would I think I had a chance?”
“Because you’re incredible, you dense twat! You’re strong and capable and gentle. I know it doesn’t matter if the whole damned world is out for me, as long as I have you I’m fine. I’m safe. You make me feel safe, Simon. I don’t feel that way with anyone else.”
His whole world shrinks, all his trains of thought derail and crash at a single point.
“You feel… With me?”
“Aren’t I?”
He is. Simon would shred through ranks and battalions, the forces and hordes of hell itself if it did as much as let Johnny sleep through the night. There isn’t a horror of any creation that he wouldn’t face for him.
“I just didn’t want you to make a mistake. I see how everyone looks at you. How they all fawn over you and fight for your attention. I didn’t see why you would want me over anyone else. It was all fun, I just never believed you’d want anything more. Anything real.”
“Did you ever think to ask me what I wanted? You’ve been trying to make my choices for me and avoiding making them for yourself. It doesn’t matter if the whole base wants me, it matters who I want to be with.”
He’s right. For the first time in a long while the fever clears and he’s able to see how pigheaded he’s been about it all.
“You almost lost me, you know. I don’t care how bad I want you, I’m nobody’s plaything. I hope to hell you see that now.”
He does. The apology is on the tip of his tongue-
“But I’m willing to let it go if you make your mind up once and for all. No more games, no more maybes. What’ll it be, Mister Riley?”
They both know the answer as Johnny slides in close enough to feel his warmth cut through the cold, and lifts the hem of the gaiter up over his nose. “In or out?”
“For keeps?”
“Only if you’re feeling lucky.”
And it doesn’t matter that the temperature is approaching freezing and they’re starting to fog the patio windows. He can’t tell. Simon is burning, washed over in flame. The moment their lips touch he tastes the drink the stranger bought him. Even combined and diluted on Johnny’s tongue he’d know the flavors anywhere. Redbull and Hennessy. Not that expensive after all. Oh, well. He’s been wrong before. Johnny kisses exactly like he dreamt he would; reckless and hard and consuming. In a moment of clarity he wonders if he feels the same. If kissing him is all that Johnny hoped it would be. They pull away when they can’t put breathing off any longer, and just by his eyes he can tell that it was. Blue flames burning right through him, full of adoration and relief. And desire hot enough to burn through steel.
“I told you it was a good omen.”
“If you’re expecting it to get any better we should get going. I’m not one for bar bathrooms.”
“Sounds like you’re just trying to get out of that game of darts.”
Johnny laughs, then laughs harder, and takes his face into his warm hands and kisses him like it’s the first time all over again.
For just a moment there’s the concern that the population of the bar had been watching them argue and subsequently make out but when they find their way back inside there’s a recruit doing a keg stand and they know they’re out of the woods.
The walk back to base is much quicker. The flirting is full bodied and direct, no outs or deniability. It’s all promises, and the only thing keeping them from making good on them is just over a kilometer of gravel.
“I was a little heated,” Simon admits. “About what’s-his-name.”
“I know you were. If I’m being honest I thought about him for a while. Not really my type, though.”
Simon huffs out a chuckle.
“What is your type, then?”
“How much can you bench?”
“‘Bout a hundred fifty kilos.”
“That type.”
He’s about to bite his tongue before he remembers that he doesn’t have to anymore.
“Expecting me to toss you around?”
“Like a damn frisbee.”
It doesn’t surprise him one bit but it does excite the hell out of him.
“If that’s okay, ‘f course.”
He’s never heard Johnny sound bashful. It’s adorable.
“I’ll do whatever you want, Johnny. Won’t even make you beg.”
“By all means, make me.”
The excitement cools as they come up the hill, and base is visible on the other side. Lights are flashing from somewhere, and the music is pointedly absent. The only people out are going back inside. It takes full effort to walk at a normal pace, trying not to seem suspicious of something they aren’t sure they’re guilty of.
“What happened?”
Johnny’s question doesn’t go unanswered for long. The south garage is overrun by MPs, and a handful of people sit handcuffed in the grass beside it. On the way past one stops them, stern at first but when he recognizes Ghost his posture loosens.
“What’s going on?”
“Brawl broke out, sir. We’ll take ‘em to dry out and deal with ‘em in the morning.”
Ghost gives them all a onceover, and to his delight among them is no other than Lucas Records himself. He looks up and sees them standing there, and when he recognizes Johnny he looks more ashamed than Simon’s ever seen someone look.
“We’ll stay out of the fray, then. Go easy on ‘em. I’ll get it back in blood at drills.”
The officer salutes and lets them pass.
“Well,” Johnny starts once they’re out of earshot. “Yours or mine?”
Simon imagines laying Johnny out on his bigger bed, and bending him over in his shower later but all that can wait. They’ll have plenty of time for it, but now he has a better idea. So what if it’s cold? They’ll be plenty warm.
“Roof in five?”
“I’ll bring the coffee.”
“You won’t need it.”