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It’s a slow and lazy day. What used to be out of the ordinary for them is now becoming a normalcy and they ease their way in with open arms. A breeze blows through the window, the sun tries to break through the clouds and they find themselves bored from a marathon of shows on TV.
They’ve been out of the business now for a few months, hidden and isolated in a cabin in the mountains. They don’t plan to be found and they’re beginning to feel more secure with the growing of each day. No one has come looking for them and if they did, they would not find them.
Wrench leans against the arm of the couch, attempting to stretch his legs farther than his allotted space, pressing his feet against Numbers’s leg. It’s not the first time he’s done it in the last half an hour, but Numbers is now determined to make it the last.
"Are you fucking serious?" he turns his body, signing angrily to the annoying man next to him. His own legs have been propped up on the coffee table, feet crossed over each other and enjoying the (few) perks of being shorter.
"I can’t help it," Wrench signs back with a grin, digging his heels in a little more. It’s not enough to actually hurt Numbers, but enough to be annoying. Sometimes he can’t help himself, he loves seeing his partner all riled up. Especially on a lazy day like this, when his hair is natural and fluffy and curly and he’s in one of those tight t-shirts that show off his body that Wrench loves. For once he’s actually able to do all the things he never got a chance to do before retiring. "It’s not my fault I’m tall," he teases.
"Then put your feet up on the coffee table," Numbers replies in irritation, directing his hands to point at his own legs, politely occupying their own space.
"That’s rude, you’re going to damage the surface," Wrench tells him after a moment of quiet. He lets out a chuckle that caused Numbers to flush in equal parts happiness at the joyful noise and frustration at the smartass response.
"Put your feet on me again and I’ll cut your legs off," Numbers threatens before turning back to the TV. Wrench frowns at him and retracts his legs a little and Numbers thinks that’s the end of that. And it is for a minute of peace, with just the TV on quietly in the background, before he feels Wrench rustle around and slide up next to him, his arm wrapping around the back of the couch and Numbers’s shoulder.
"What?" Numbers finally asks after his partner stares at him for an entire, full minute.
"You’re so grumpy today."
"You’re making me grumpy," Numbers scowls.
"How can I possibly be making you grumpy, just look at me," he gestures to his body, a smirk pulling at his lips.
"I swear to god," Numbers starts but doesn’t finish. Not because he doesn’t know what to say, but because Wrench grabs his hands around the wrists, making vague half signs. If someone else saw, they would have no idea what was being said, but Wrench thinks it’s absolutely hilarious. Numbers on the other hand, does not. He tries to free his hands, but Wrench tightens his grip on them and Numbers growls. The vibrations only spur Wrench’s playfulness as he makes another series of signs, this time speaking aloud his mockery.
"I’m a big baby."
"If you don’t fucking stop it," Numbers tries to sign, his lips the only thing making it intelligible to Wrench what he’s saying.
"I cry during sex." Wrench tries to sign again.
Numbers is about to retaliate, his brows scrunching together, his teeth gritting, and Wrench knows it’s time to diffuse the bomb before it explodes. He lets his hands go as quickly as he had seized them. His now free hand runs through the fluffy hair on his partner’s head as he leans in kiss the soft skin below his ear. He can feel the tiny moan in Numbers’s throat as gently draws his teeth along the surface.
He pulls back and sees most of the tension gone from the man’s face. A little lingers, as always, but he seems fully more concerned with other matters.
"I’m bored," Wrench signs with a sly smirk that makes Numbers want to clock him in the nose and fuck him at the same time. He loves this man and he cannot even fathom why, sometimes. But at the same time, he know every reason; every little thing and quirk and problem and detail about Wrench that makes him love him. Even the stuff that drives him wild with fury, he loves him. And Wrench loves him too.
"Wanna go upstairs?" Numbers signs after collecting himself a bit, feeling eager from the built up frustration and the lingering feeling of Wrench’s lips on his throat.
"Hell yeah," his partner signs and it’s not long before he’s off the couch, Numbers following behind him.
At the top of the stairs, right before the bedroom though, Wrench dooms himself. “So you’re not gonna cry this time are you?”
It takes a whole day to explain that he’s not used to being bored and that he’s sorry and that he knows Numbers doesn’t cry while they fuck and he won’t ever say it again.
But of course, he will, Numbers knows this. And he’ll apologize every time, and Numbers will love him a little more. Every single time.