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Johnny is pretty sure he did something amazing in a past life, because holy shit things were going so well right now.
Dating Simon had been wonderful. They challenge each other to be better, they’ve learned and grown. Simon makes him feel like some kind of fizzy drink, his skin barely containing the little bubbles of happiness.
Dating Simon and Kyle…that was next level. He’d thought nothing could be better. Kyle was fantastic. He was funny, he was great in the sack, and he memorized Johnny’s coffee order after their second date. Johnny doesn’t like to think that anything was truly missing before he started dating Kyle too. Dating Simon felt right and dating Simon and Kyle felt more right.
How could anything possibly top that feeling?
But he was wrong. It could and did get even better.
“Does Simon normally talk in his sleep?” Kyle asks. He’d stayed over with them—both of them—for the first time last night. He’s making Johnny’s coffee and his tea (great, another bloody tea drinker in Johnny’s life) while Johnny stares at the smooth planes of his back. He distantly recognizes that he’s been asked a question, but like: Kyle’s back. How is he supposed to focus?
“Hmm?”
“Earth to—oh bloody hell, Johnny,” Kyle snaps his fingers when he realizes that his boyfriend is fully checked out. He smirks as Johnny jumps, his cheeks getting ruddy at being caught. “Y’with me then?”
“Yes! I was—you’re very distracting!” Johnny pouts. Kyle laughs, and it’s different from the soft huffs of breath that make up Simon’s laugh (his soft one anyway). Kyle’s is more like, like water gently flowing over smooth rocks in a sunbeam. “What was the question?”
“Does Simon normally talk in his sleep?” Kyle asks again. He sets Johnny’s coffee down on the small breakfast bar in the kitchen, but Johnny can’t pay attention to that, because holy shit. Holy shit he now has a witness to corroborate his claims that Simon doesn’t just talk in his sleep. He has sleep conversations.
How many times have they bickered because Johnny woke up in the middle of the night because of a dream and poured his heart out, only for Simon to question why Johnny is acting extra love-y the next morning?
“Kyle, Gaz, love,” Johnny says, dead serious expression belying his excitement. He stands and crowds his boyfriend against the kitchen counter, “precious, darling.”
“The fuck are you on about, Johnny?” Kyle asks. He almost looks alarmed.
“Pookie, hot stuff, muffin,” Johnny continues, now really just enjoying taking the piss out of him.
“I’m going to pour your coffee down the sink if you keep calling me names.” There’s a little frown in Kyle’s brows that Johnny wants to kiss away; he settles for giving him a quick kiss on the lips.
“Do you know what this means?”
“Apparently not?” Kyle says, still confused but looking so endeared it makes Johnny’s heart hurt a little.
“Kyle, Simon never believes me when I tell him he talks in his sleep. He never remembers! He thinks I’m taking the piss!” Kyle decides that now is not the moment to tell Johnny that “taking the piss” is exactly the vibe he gives off almost always. “But now we can catch him in the act!”
“Catch him…in the act,” Kyle repeats. His tone is wary but his expression is still amused, so Johnny has room to convince him. And convince him he will.
“Yes, babe, seriously, it’s so freaky. I’ve had complete conversations with him and he doesn’t remember. But we can record him! I’ll talk to him, and you can take a video or something.” And Kyle knows that he probably shouldn’t get caught up in Johnny’s wild shenanigans, but…he does look very cute right now.
“Wow, get a room,” comes a voice from the living room. Simon walks into the kitchen, mussed with sleep and looking, in Kyle’s humble opinion, fucking devastatingly beautiful. Johnny looks between them and smirks.
“We weren’t—I mean, I made tea?” Kyle says, too flustered by how Simon’s blond curls are pressed flat to his forehead. He looks like sin even though he’s wearing loose gray sweatpants, a t- shirt, and a hoodie. How dare he look all soft and fond as he smiles at them both when Kyle hasn’t even had the chance to properly caffeinate yet?
“‘Was kidding, Gaz,” he says, and his voice is rough from sleep and holy shit there’s no way Kyle is going to survive this new onslaught of attraction. Simon, seemingly unaware of Kyle’s inner turmoil, leans down to kiss Johnny’s temple before he glances at Kyle. It’s like he’s asking permission and Kyle is dead. He must be.
“May I?” Simon asks, and before this moment, Kyle wouldn’t have said that the Mancunian accent was particularly sexy, but his opinion is rapidly changing.
“Uh, sure,” he says, his voice breaking. His cheeks flare bright red as Simon presses a gentle kiss to his brow.
“Oh, babe, he’s so gone for you. This is awesome,” Johnny says, looking very much like the cat that caught a Kyle-shaped canary. Simon has the audacity to blush and fuck.
Kyle could get used to this.
— — —
No one would fault you for assuming that, after dating for six months, Kyle would know better than to think Johnny had let the sleep talking matter drop.
As it stands, he’s currently standing beside Simon and Johnny’s bed, holding his phone at the ready. He and Johnny have been waiting for Simon to fall asleep before carefully getting out of bed and preparing to hatch their plot.
“Wait, what should I talk about?” Johnny whispers. Kyle resists the urge to groan, but really?
“Shouldn’t you have thought about that before now?” Kyle hisses. Johnny looks sheepish, and really he’s very lucky he is so adorable when he makes that face; Kyle can’t stay frustrated with him.
“What do you normally talk about?” Kyle whispers. Johnny looks around the room, waiting for inspiration to strike. Kyle checks the time. It’s late as balls, Simon having come home at midnight after closing the restaurant’s kitchen at eleven, then taking another hour to prepare for bed and actually fall asleep. They’d also waited a few extra minutes just to make sure he was out before moving.
“Uhm…sometimes I talk about my mam. Or if I had a weird dream,” Johnny says. Kyle is this close to calling it off when suddenly, Johnny brightens and scoots closer to where Simon is bear hugging his pillow.
“Hey, Si?” Johnny says gently. Kyle gives him a look but records when Johnny gestures at him. “Simon? I got a question.” It’s silent for another moment and then:
“Yeah, Johnny, wha’s up?” Simon slurs. Kyle leans over to check and—yeah, he’s still asleep. Holy shit.
“I was thinking about making steaks this weekend,” Johnny says through his shit eating grin. Kyle quirks a brow. It’s silent for a moment.
“Johnny, I love you, but you’re shite at cooking steak,” Simon grumbles. Kyle presses a hand to his mouth to smother his giggles.
“Excuse you! I’m fine at cooking steak, it’s you that’s fuckin picky,” Johnny says defensively, as if he didn’t expect that kind of response.
“‘M’not picky, babe, I just prefer my food t’be fuckin’ edible,” Simon mutters. Johnny makes an affronted sound. “‘T’s okay, Johnny. Y’re good at other stuff.” Kyle squats so that he can really look at Simon’s face; there’s no way he’s really asleep. Kyle waits for anything, any twitch or tell that’ll give Simon away.
A minute passes as he waits. Then another.
“Hey, Simon?” Kyle asks, testing the waters. He watches as Simon twitches, just once, before falling still again. “How come Johnny can’t cook steak?” Johnny looks betrayed when Kyle shifts to look at him quickly, but he shrugs; Johnny started them on this path.
“He ov’r cooks ‘em.” Simon’s eyes are still closed, his body fully relaxed. He’s really fucking asleep.
“Och, I use a timer!” Johnny protests, almost too loud. Kyle shushes him. Simon sighs, squeezing his arms tighter around his pillow.
“Y’don’ time ‘em.”
“Oh really?” Johnny asks, sarcasm practically dripping off of his words. “How does one not overcook a steak then, oh genius of cooking?”
“Y’ poke’m.” One of Simon’s fingers twitch, “can tell b’touchin’em.” Johnny throws up his hands.
“Awa’ an bile yer heid,” Johnny growls. Kyle tries not to snicker at him, but it’s a losing battle.
“English, M’cTavish,” Simon immediately replies.
Kyle stops the recording, seeing an outburst is imminent; he doesn’t actually want to wake up Simon.
“C’mon, babe, let’s get you some water,” Kyle says, going around to Johnny’s side and grabbing his arm. Johnny looks like he wants to pick up his pillow and hit Simon, and that would be funny, except allegedly Simon won’t remember it. “C’mon, Johnny.” He finally relents and allows himself to be dragged away by Kyle’s steady hand.
“My steak isn’t bad!” he grumbles once they’re in the kitchen. Kyle sighs and kisses his pout until he smiles.
“I’m sure it’s not. But you are dating a classically trained chef, love,” Kyle says, smoothing his fingers over Johnny’s face in sweeping motions. It works like a charm to get him sleepy.
“We,” Johnny says in a yawn.
“What?”
“We are dating a classically trained chef,” he says again with a big, dopey smile on his face. Kyle feels his cheeks get hot and he has to hide his smile in Johnny’s mohawk.
— — —
Simon knows as soon as he opens his eyes that something is up. He’s cold, for one, but rolling over to try and steal body heat from Johnny or Kyle isn’t an option since neither is still in bed. He can count on one hand the number of times Johnny has gotten out of bed before him when he didn’t have a game or practice.
It’s suspicious, is all he’s saying.
He bundles himself in a hoodie and throws on a pair of socks for good measure before making his way out of the bedroom. Opening the door only raises his suspicion. It smells like food.
The thing is, Simon is fully aware that Johnny can cook for himself. He’s not helpless in the kitchen (anymore), but he usually chooses not to cook when both of them are home in the morning. Simon is more than happy to make breakfast, and Johnny is more than happy letting him.
The open floorplan of the flat allows him to see straight from the hall outside the bedroom to the kitchen, and fuck, what a sight greets him.
Kyle is sitting on the counter in boxers, wearing a t-shirt that’s too big, which means it’s Simon’s, and a pair of Johnny’s rugby socks. Johnny is in one of his older jerseys, so it fits him tight across the shoulders. It’s almost criminal. Worse than that, they’re laughing and kissing and looking so fucking domestic. It makes Simon’s heart clench hard in his chest.
“What’s all this then?” Simon asks as he approaches the kitchen. Now that’s he closer, the food cooking smells savory, but not in a savory breakfast kind of way.
“Ah, sleeping beauty himself, come to join us,” Johnny says, eyes bright. Simon stoops to meet him in a good morning kiss automatically, but he’s distracted by what’s sizzling on their stove.
“Are you…cooking steak? Christ alive, Johnny it’s eight in the bloody morning!” Johnny exchanges a look with Kyle that Simon doesn’t understand, and that…is a little scary.
“Roach said Americans eat steak and eggs all the time for breakfast,” Johnny says with a shrug that is far too casual for the smirk he has on his face.
“Oh, did we teleport to America then?” Simon snarks. He looks closer at the steak. Johnny’s close to overdoing them. “Seriously, what is going on?”
“You, uh, bruised his ego last night, Simon,” Kyle says from his perch on the counter.
What?
“What? When did we talk about steak last night? You were both basically asleep by the time I got home.” Simon can see Kyle trying not to laugh.
“You talk in your sleep,” Kyle says. Johnny makes a triumphant noise and throws his arms in the air like his team just made a fucking goal. Simon groans.
“Not you too, I swear, Johnny this is—“
“Johnny, I love you, but you’re shite at cooking steak.” Kyle is holding up his phone, playing a video that, while dark, is unmistakably Simon with his face smashed into his pillow.
“Excuse you! I’m fine at cooking steak, it’s you that’s fuckin picky,” Johnny’s voice is defensive from where he’s speaking off camera.
“‘M’not picky, babe, I just prefer my food t’be fuckin’ edible,” there’s a pause, an upset noise from video-Johnny, and then, “‘T’s okay, Johnny. Y’re good at other stuff.”
Oh. Wow, this is. Mildly mortifying.
Johnny stands by Kyle, his grin shit-eating levels of satisfied. Kyle pauses the video, his own smile a little more subdued, a little more bashful.
“When the fuck did that happen?” Simon asks, voice coming out strangled. “I don’t—what—hold on.” He goes to the stove and pulls the steaks off the skillet, placing them on a waiting plate.
“Oi! They’re not done yet!” Johnny cries.
“Any longer and they’d basically be charcoal, Johnny. They continue cooking even when they’re off the heat,” Simon explains for what feels like the millionth time. He presses a finger to each steak and sighs. He’s managed to save them—they’re just a touch beyond medium rare.
“Hey! He does poke them!” Kyle says with a startled laugh.
“What’re—“
“Och, I use a timer!” Simon is going to have to find a way to destroy that video.
“Y’don’ time ‘em,” his sleep muddled voice makes him cringe.
“Oh really? How does one not overcook a steak then, oh genius of cooking?”
“Y’ poke’m. Can tell b’touchin’em.” Kyle pauses the video again.
Simon is faced with two partners smirking at him, and he has some regrets. At least the steak will be good.
“Well…you can,” he mutters, poking the steak again just for something to do so that he doesn’t have to look them in the eyes. He can’t believe he had a full conversation he doesn’t remember. How many times has Johnny told him that had happened, and he’d brushed him off?
Kyle hops off the counter and cups his hands around Simon’s cheeks, pulling him into a kiss slowly. They’re still so new, what if Kyle thinks this is some kind of defect?
“Hey, look at me?” Kyle asks gently. Simon does; he’s pretty sure he’s not going to be able to deny Kyle anything. Fucking hell.
“It was very cute,” Kyle says, his eyes crinkling with his smile. Simon’s cheeks get hot enough to rival the skillet.
“He’s right, babe,” Johnny says, suddenly appearing next to them. “Even though you’re wrong and I cook steak just fine.”
“I guess we’ll have to see,” Kyle says. He’s so beautiful standing there in their small kitchen.
“Except for the fact that you were going to overcook them,” Simon says. Johnny throws his hands up again, this time in exasperation.
“Whatever! Can we eat now? I’m starving.” Simon rolls his eyes and can’t stop his own smile. Then, realizing he’d missed something because of the steak-shaped distraction in his morning, he kisses Kyle quickly, catching him by surprise.
“Good morning, Kyle.” He can see the blush lighting up Kyle’s cheeks and feels his heart go just a little faster.
“Morning, Simon.”
“Breakfast!” Johnny calls again. Simon unravels himself from Kyle’s hands and turns to wear Johnny is setting their little kitchen table. Three place settings feels right.
“Didn’t you say steak and eggs?” Simon asks; he gets a little too much enjoyment out of seeing Johnny duck his head sheepishly.
“Well, you do make eggs better. So…” Simon snorts and pushes his sleeves up, going through the motion of making his boys eggs.
The steak is perfect.