#axmc

[azws]

#Repost @lowlefttactical 👈 Follow this #badass! 👊🔫 ・・・ Mail call from #kydexjesus @veilsolutions really digging the custom #accuracyinternational magazine pouches. #precisionrifle #AIAX #AXMC #borkatools #precisionrifleseries #GunpornDistributors #AZWS #TwitterBound https://www.instagram.com/p/BnU9kG9hZyK https://www.instagram.com/p/BnU9kG9hZyK/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1d7145dcoe7kc

[againsttheroofofmymouth]

Uhhh...So I may have accidentally wrote 9k+ words of yaoi...

ummm this is like military themed yaoi. i'm planning on tackling some pretty dark stuff, torture, SA, its got a decent amount of angst in my opinion but also a bunch of comfort after...heavily inspired by some fics i've read. shoutout to mildlimerance's Acceptable loss...and Stinglesswasp's Seasons...

it's so cooked. I would love feedback, good or bad. anyways. here's the prologue.

0. Prologue

He stared at the figure curled up at the base of his bed. He could’ve almost mistaken the man for dead if not for the occasional twitch.

He was supposed to be dead though.

Simon could still smell the cold in that place, concrete splattered with blood and entrails, reeking of decay and rust. Some kind of mold had sprawled over the slightly depressed corner, a fuzzy black growth that was fed by the constant drip of condensation that gathered on the ceiling and the blood that drained there.

Days, weeks, months blurred together, marked by the only constant of pain. Worrying its way into their bones until there was no room for much else.

No one else.

A place that should have become their grave.

Yet, blood still sluggishly ran through their veins, and wet air filled their lungs. Feverish promises were made from one to each other, so they forced their bodies to eat, breathe and see.

And when they left, they left pieces behind that were filled by the other.

Simon always thought of Jaime as larger than life. Yes, he knew the man as a friend first, then character, but he drew lines and they just happened to fit.

A cathedral of a man, taller than him by almost a full head and wider too. Surprisingly fast when he chose but mostly lumbered around. A bit loud, stupidly strong and with an absurd brand of naivete that reminded him much of an empty headed dog.

A dog that got into trouble, snapped at anyone who looked at it wrong and lazed around whenever possible.

The same dog that clung to him now like he was some savior. But he knew better.

He wasn’t even a dog person. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to push the man away.

So he stayed. If that was what Jaime needed, then he'd play the part. For him, he would try.

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So I have a timeline issue rn, so everything above is set up for the fic's present... but below is going to be the past... I don't know how to organize this but tbh I just had to get this out. I'm also debating whether I should just put this into a fandom to attract more attention...Anyways. the stuff below the cut is my first chapter of Delayed Primary Closure for the past. take the organization with a grain (a spoonful which is 6 grams) of salt...

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1. Bird

Simon didn’t notice at first. He’d just been enjoying his pint in peace, trying not to lose the third round of dice against Gaz.

Then he glanced toward the bar.

He froze. 

“...What the fuck.”

Jaime, all 6’8” of poorly-wrapped awkwardness, was surrounded.

There were at least six guys around him. No–seven. Eight.

Nine?

Simon blinked. Counted again.

Twelve.

Twelve men, all various stages of plastered were aggressively trying to buy drinks for a man who looked like he never stopped hitting his face against a wall as a child.

Jaime, for his part, stood there like a confused St. Bernard, a head taller than most of them, blinking slowly, visibly sweating, holding a pint in each hand and somehow accepting a third from a stranger.

Soap looked over from the dartboard and whistled. “Bloody hell. Looks like the buffet’s open.”

Gaz, sliding back from the bar, stopped mid-step. “...Is…Sergev being hit on?”

Simon didn’t answer. He was too busy watching Jaime try to balance four pints with his shovel hands while someone leaned in and said something that made Jaime turn the shade of a dying salmon.

The man laughed and touched Jaime’s arm.

Simon saw him flinch, just barely.

He covered it well. Took a gulp of one of the pints and nodded vaguely at something, like if he didn’t move too much, the situation would go away.

It didn’t.

A thirteenth guy slid beside him. Full sleeve tattoo, earrings, clearly very invested.

Simon stared like the scene.

Jaime, the man who once lost a fight to a doorframe, who had the charisma of wet concrete, who would rather be downrange with an AXMC 338 LM over having a conversation, was somehow the center of the pub–which wasn’t even a gay bar.

“Yeah,” Simon said, voice flat, “Jaime fuckin’ Sergev, actually getting action.”

Soap snorted. “That’s our boy.”

They watched as Jaime was handed another drink. He accepted it, thumb running over the glass with the same expression as a bear trying to read.

Gaz stifled a laugh. “Should we, uh… get him?”

“Why?” Simon snipped, voice coolly even. “He’s clearly thriving.”

Soap was laughing now. “Mate’s gonna drown in beer before he figures out what’s happening.”

Simon didn't laugh. His jaw was tight.

Jaime didn’t chase, nor did he pine. He had never said anything, never even looked at a woman–or anyone for that matter–with interest. He’d definitely never looked at Simon the way the man with the sleeve tattoo was looking at him now.

Simon forced a slow breath through his nose. Then stood.

“We should collect the man before someone tries to take him home and mount him like a taxidermy project.” 

He weaved through the crowd, long strides eating up the distance until he broke into the inner circle of men. Jaime blinked at him, relieved. 

“Simon,” he said, voice low. “I think they’re flirting with me.”

“You think so?” Simon held back a scoff, eyes cold.

“I dunno. They keep buying me drinks.”

“Yes, Jaime. That’s because they’re trying to get in your trousers.”

 Jaime looked down at the five drinks he was now holding like they were cursed artifacts. “But they’re free.”

Simon stared.

Jaime looked genuinely torn. “It’d be rude to say no, right?”

Simon deadpanned, “Do you even know where you are?”

Jaime glanced around. “...Pub?”

“No, Bird,” Simon said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “You’re at a cocktail convention and you’re the bloody booth sample.”

Jaime blinked. “Bird?”

Soap and Gaz, who had followed, were already laughing.

“Bird!” Soap shouted, raising a toast.

Simon turned back toward Jaime. 

“You’ve pulled more blokes in ten minutes than I’ve seen in my entire life,” he said. “Are you paying? Are you drugging them?”

 Jaime frowned. “I think I just look friendly.”

“You look like you sleep in a trench.”

“They’re being really nice,” Jaime muttered, defensive.

Simon leaned in, dropping his voice. “They want to rail you into next Tuesday.”

Jaime went very still.

Simon watched the realization slowly trickle in like molasses.

Jaime’s ears turned red. “...Oh.” 

Simon clapped him on the shoulder. “Drink up, Bird. You’ve got admirers to disappoint.”

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Thanks for reading!

Chapter 2 if u care for it