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He knows his clothes are a mess; there must be stains of skin-hued mousse and dirt on it, but he doesn't care. His back hits the coarse bark of a tree, heel of a boot slipping in the mud so he clings a hand around his boyfriend’s sturdy shoulder. The term still makes him smile like a loon, boyfriend, who ever thought that after dying and crawling out of the grave he’d find himself one of those, in Roarton of all places.
His big caveman grunts against his lips, as if to say ‘mine’ and presses his chest close enough to deprive him of oxygen, lips soft paint brush strokes to his own. They get lost in this, in their own little world that no one can touch, no one can come and take away – unless of course his dad ever catches Simon in his bed again.
Simon’s tongue skates along his bottom lip, a cheeky smile evident in the curve of his mouth. It’ll never cease to surprise him, just how happy he makes Simon. One of Simon’s hands slips lower, reverently curling around the lapels of his shirt until his fingers find skin, thumbing circles. His toes curl, but they can’t, they shouldn’t, not out here in the open for anyone to see.
"Simon," he pulls back half an inch, voice rough. "We shouldn’t."
"Why not?" Simon’s fingers tap at his hips playfully. "Who’s gonna stop us?"
He shrugs. “I d’know.”
"Come on, Kieren. Live a little."
He snorts. “Live a little? Seriously?” He raises an unimpressed eyebrow; despite everything he doesn’t plan on letting Simon have his way at every turn – he likes to think Simon likes that about him, love even, that he questions beliefs Simon considers set in stone. But all his stubbornness ever seems to elicit are soft smiles and Simon’s loving eyes.
He rolls his eyes fondly. “Don’t look at me like that.”
And every time they skip past this subject the skip of Simon’s eyes down to his lips is unmistakable, the half inch he draws closer again, negating any distance. “Like what?”
"Like–" He pockets his hands in his jacket an digs a shoe in the dirt, more than a little embarrassed once he adds, "–I’m the second coming or something.”
One of Simon’s big hands cups the side of his face. “I love you, Kieren Walker,” he says, followed by a lopsided grin, and for a moment –it’s just a second and it’s gone again– he swears he hears the beating of his own heart. “So not a chance.”
- fin -