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Summary
There were two types of days in Simon's life. Days where he craved touch like his life depended on it and days where he would avoid anyone and everyone, when even brushing against him could result in bodily injury. He never knew which kind of day he'd wake up to until it happened.
Soap though, Soap had perfected the art of recognizing Simon's current tolerance and his neediness for touch.
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“Johnny…” he begged, not knowing what he was even asking for, the sweet ecstasy building in his limbs again, electricity across his skin where they touched.
“You’re so good, fuck, Simon…” Johnny sped up, clearly losing some of his self-restraint finally and Simon loved him for it, loved him for finally gripping his arms so hard it could leave a bruise, for less than gentle a kiss, messy against their teeth, for putting his weight on him so he could feel just how much strength he really suppressed; he loved him for being the scariest motherfucker he knew, the only one with will to survive the destruction that he brought forth, yet unafraid to ask permission for the most obvious things in the world.TW: homphobic slurs, attempted rape (no descriptive details)