Work Text:
Putting together not one, but two sweaters, undetected was actually quite easy when your partner was both a lawyer and a hero running around in the streets.
Between traveling for work every now and then, and returning home late after some villain decided to strike in the night while everyone's guard was lowered, you managed to keep a steady pace on your little holiday project- it probably helped that you started far sooner than you needed to… but hey! That just meant you had the wiggle room to waste time and skip working on it for a day or two. God knew your fingers needed the rest, even Simon had caught on to the tenseness plaguing your knuckles.
But it was worth it as you tucked away the final loops of yarn, securing your hard work into something nice and cozy… and hopefully large enough to fit Simon's frame. He was tall, and admittedly… he had long arms. Lanky. Wide shouldered, although not wide overall. A triangle. He wasn't as bulky as some of the other men and heros you've seen him associate himself with- unmasked as you run into them on the streets, not that you ever put two and two together and realized that Robert Parr was the Mr. Incredible. Newspapers were another thing, sometimes you liked collecting the clippings that featured Gazerbeam.
You were lucky to have found a man who wasn't much for teasing- if Simon were the type to hold your little paper stash over your head you'd probably die from the embarrassment.
Instead, when he found it he simply looked... warmed.
With that, the thought of giving him a sweater was a little funny to you.
He'd come home, either from his lawyer work or his hero work- a job either way- and pull his shoes off at the door. Maybe his eyes would still radiate some heat if he had to use them on his way home. Maybe they'd be warm metaphorically as he let his professionalism of the day slip just the slightest bit within your presence. Simon was deliberate. He was cautious. You've learned a long time ago that it was a product of several things, but his avoidance of eye contact wasn't born out of ego or awkwardness- rather from something akin to care. A stare lasting too long could result in a flame-
-and wool just so happened to be extremely flammable. Something you kept in mind as you thought of a design for the front, before ultimately ditching the idea. Because you knew, if Simon accidentally set fire to the sweater he'd carry that guilt forever; no matter how many times you tried to reassure him that it was okay.
An experimental tug on the sleeves showed that they were firm enough… you think… the loops of yarn didn't ravel or give out, so that was surely a good sign, wasn't it?You've sewn before… but knitting? That was an entirely different beast that you had no where near tamed.
But it looked wearable.
Simon's sweater was a deep navy blue, and your own sweater in your personal favorite color. Not very Christmas themed, but they were for the both of you to wear whenever, not just within the season.
You'd wash them. That feels like something you should do before putting them on- its what you generally did when you purchased new clothing from the store. But you knew for a fact no one has worn or touched these before. A habit. One that you weren't given the chance to indulge as the familiar sound of the front door opening alerted you to Simon's arrival home.
He almost always inserted the wrong key. Maybe a second wrong key. Before finding the correct one. Usually it was worse on nights where he had to run through the streets after a villain- his brain no doubt double fried from doing both his jobs back to back. You could see it in the brief way he flicked his blue eyes over your form, then to the sweaters in your lap… so much for trying to wait until Christmas day to gift them- two weeks too soon.
"What's all this?" Simon's blue eyes distracted themselves with his feet as he hooked his fingers into the back of his work shoes, his once neat black hair now ruffled from his helmet.
It looked nice like that. You always felt too shy to admit it out loud though.
A change from the usual put together and neat look he usually sported. Even his glasses sat somewhat skewed on the thin bridge of his nose… you wondered; did he still wear them under his helmet, or did the visor match his prescription?
Actually, now that you thought about it… did Simon always wear his hero suit under his work suit? Or was it tucked away out of sight in his case? Did he strip down in the alleyway before hounding a villain… how quick could he change? What did he do with his clothing in those scenarios, would they just be left somewhere on the ground… you don't even think his helmet was small enough to fit in his thin case-
"Angel?" Simon murmured softly as he pushed his shoes to the side and out of the way, his case propped down against the wall. Loose corners of documents peaked from the edges.
You hadn't meant for your mind to wander but these were important questions!
Soft wool rolled between your fingers, soft material against the roughened callouses that formed where you propped the needles to your fingers. Almost like sandpaper against a cloud.
You blink as it finally registers that Simon was taking a few cautious steps towards you, brow furrowed- glasses still clinging onto his nose. He got close enough for you to see the dimples they left behind near his eyes where they usually rested.
Simon's eyes flit between your face, the needles left at your side, the messy balls of yarn.. then the sweaters… but they lingered most on the shiny skin of your fingers.
"Well, these were supposed to be for Christmas," You mumbled softly as you pushed the blue sweater away from you, showing it off as the sleeves fell out of your lap and hung lazily by your ankles- long. Very long. "I figured it'd be nice to give you something to wear around the house, or you know… elsewhere."
Simon didn't go out that much, not alone at least. If you or one of his guy friends dragged him out? There was hardly anything that could make him turn the offer down. Especially if it was you asking.
"You made this?" His voice was quiet, almost subdued as his fingers reached forward for the sweater… then stopped. Hesitating in the air, his eyes silently asking for permission as his own dark circles matched your own. Simon's fingers set themselves back into motion as you gave him your nod of approval.
"It's not the best, you know I've only ever sewn pillows before… holes, stuff like that. It's nothing like knitting an entire sweater," You mumbled as he gently pulled the sweater out of your lap, unfolding and presenting it in front of him… sure it looked like it fit his proportions, now that you were seeing him holding the thing in person, but it didn't really… do much to silence the nagging voice in the back of your hand. "I probably would have had better luck just making you a quilt, God knows I had the time,"
It'd be more forgiving. Tedious as all hell, but far more forgiving. Something you were already used to.
Simon's fingers curled into the wool, and gave it an experimental tug- no where near as bold as your own pull earlier, he was cautious as his eyes refused to settle on a single loop of yarn. One flash of heat and the entire thing could go up in flames. "It's lovely," His voice maintained that quietness. "More than lovely,"
His hands fidget again with the sweater, before he tugs on his work coat- wrinkled, no doubt from nearly tearing it off to swap into his hero suit… seriously, you always wondered the logistics of that, screw wondering how supers came to be- how did the heros change so quick into their clothing?- "May I try it on…?" Simon snapped you out of your thoughts before you could re-board that train of thought.
"It's yours, you're free to wear it whenever you please," You hadn't meant to sound so dismissive. You were just nervous, could anyone blame you when this was the moment that would determine whether or not your work was done right?
If you had done something wrong- didn't knit the loops properly, or didn't get the lengths right, or maybe Simon couldn't wear wool. His skin could miraculously be sensitive to this specific spool, worst case scenario-
He shrugs his coat off, the sound of fabric rustling and collapsing dragged you out of your thoughts- as Simon pulled the sweater over his head… further messing up his hair and tugging his glasses down… and after some shimmying, he finally pushed his hands through the ends of the sleeve.
He looked… charming in a cute sort of nerdy boyish way. He pushed his glasses back where they belonged, but left his hair ruffled. For just a moment he didn't look like a tired hard working lawyer who stayed up well into the night working through the papers he brought home, at least he didn't look as tired.
Cozy.
He looked cozy and warm, worn in like a well loved pillow. The wool wasn't overly plush, it wasn't particularly thick or large, but it did well in hiding the curves and sharper edges of his toned body.
"The body is a little long," Wide? Whichever term was more accurate to the excess of sweater that piled in his lap, it'd probably fall down to his mid thigh if he stood up. Or maybe just his upper thigh. You'd know soon enough, but for now you followed his hands as he tugged and fiddled with the sleeves. Even they were fluffy, hanging off of his arms. "I kind of had to improvise your measurements,"
"I quite like it when my sweaters provide some… wiggle room…" Simon rose off of the couch, hands smoothing out the wrinkles of the sweater. It stopped his upper thigh, not too far under his hips. Good. Better than it being lower. "In fact, I think this might just become my new favorite shirt," His smile was tired, worn down from a long day, but it was earnest as he hooked his fingers around the bottom of the sweater, and dragged it back up along his body- his button up and tie still underneath, ridding up and untucking themselves from the hem of his pants from the pull of wool. You couldn't deny it, your eye caught on the sliver of flesh that peeked out for half a second before his shirt dropped back down and hid what was revealed.
"I assume the second one is for you?"t
The second sweater finds itself in your hand, fingers nearly snapping to the bundle and pulling it to your chest. Anything to play off the brief flash of hunger in your eyes.
He'd chalk up the flush in your cheeks to his praise. He wouldn't be entirely wrong.
"…I thought it'd be cute to match," You mumbled as you fumbled with the sweater.
"It's sweet," Simon neatly folded the clothing in his arms, careful. Gentle. As if he were scared to tear something in it even if it proved itself as sturdy. "I'll have to rethink what I've planned for your gift," The tiny gap was made smaller as he closed in, his hands gently curling between yours… his near boney knuckle brushing gentle against the dully throbbing patches of toughened skin on your own fingers, it'd take a while for the callouses to die back into something softer. You never had that problem with sewing. Pricking your fingers, definitely. But you were careful enough, mindful of the needle. You couldn't stop the wooden needle from sinking against your digits and knuckles as you worked it into something like a shiny pad of reddened flesh. Simon brushed his thumb over the skin.
"I suppose that explains why your fingers have been red, I was starting to get worried," He mumbled softly as he pulled you to your feet. "You must have put so much work in,"
That second part was quieter. Almost guilty as he brushed himself against your callouses. Then, he looked thoughtful. Whatever had sprung into his mind was lost on you as he carefully guided you to bed, his arm slipping to rest along the back of your shoulders.
"You've really made sure my works cut out for me," His grin was lopsided, awkward. But determined. An attempt to tease, something he hardly ever did. Something you silently thanked him for.
He never had a funny bone, despite his insistence that he did.
But Simon's heart was big, and if the glint in his eyes- briefly caught as your stares met one another- told you anything, he was already plotting something in his head to make sure his gift to you for Christmas matched up with the sweaters.
Because where Simon failed in humor, he made up for in care; regardless about what some people said about him.