#with: simon

[drunk-and-howling]

Salva, would it be possible at all for us to meet in person soon? A lot has happened in the past few days and... I dunno, I just have this feeling.

Sure, Simon... That'd be nice. Where do you wanna meet?

Everything okay?

[polyplots]

“Honey, I’m home!“, Jesus yelled the second he opened the front door, carrying the grocery bags. He had probably taken up way too much time while shopping but he didn’t mind, and hopefully neither would them. “You know there’s this store not that far that has great fruit? I think the green juice will have a good taste now”, he commented as he walked into the kitchen, unable to wipe the stupid grin off his face. The problem now was how to talk to their spouse about the subject without it being rude or making it seem like they weren’t enough for him, because it wasn’t an issue, Jesus was a thousand percent in love with Simon, it was something that wasn’t going to change, no matter what. 

“Do you want me to cook us some breakfast? Or should I say brunch?“, he began unpacking the items, making sure to put the fresh ones in the refrigerator, more than once things had gone rotten because of Jesus forgetfulness. “I met someone today”, he blurted out, “she’s pretty cool to hang out with, I was thinking that she could be our friend”, was this how couples made new friends? Or was he coming off as too weird? “You know I’m in the mood for pancakes, or maybe some crepes”. 

@simonsayspoly

[er-fightmaster]

Far From Home || Robbie & Simon

Sandhurst felt like a lifetime away. The fourteen weeks basic training, the twenty-two weeks stationed on base running through drills and daily grind, Robbie had thought he'd been ready to get out and see the world, ready to fight. Turned out, stuff wasn't that simple. It never was. You traded your apartment on base for a tent in the middle of nowhere. On their third night, a desert storm had almost blown the thing clear out of the ground. Two dozen soldiers in half-uniform had rushed around with pegs and sledgehammers to make sure everything was secure while wind howled and sand blew in their eyes. Nobody wanted to get back to sleep after that. It was all gossip and male bonding experience, exchanged memories of beers drank and girls fucked, insults and the proverbial pissing contests, whose is bigger. Robbie closed his eyes and snickered silently to himself. They were changing in front of each other two or more times a day. Wasn't gonna be a mystery for that long. That night was the first night he noticed it, the way Simon turned away awkwardly, got quiet. The second time came a couple days later when it was pile-on-Nick night. All in good fun, of course. Nick was straight as an arrow. Didn't change the fact he'd been a male model before coming here, deciding he wanted to serve his country rather than rub oil on his abs. He was shallow as shit, always bitching about the diet here and now he couldn't get a good workout in, how hard it was to be fashion conscious when everyone looked the same. He was a nice guy, good-humored, capable of making fun of himself, but Simon flinched in the middle of their card game whenever the slurs came out. "Leave him alone, bucktooth," Robbie had interjected, grinning like a Cheshire Cat as he tossed the tennis ball in Martin's direction. "You're just jealous 'cause if there were any girls here, he'd be the one they'd be looking at." It was easy, changing the focus to someone else, something else, letting the laughter and jokes erupt in someone else's direction. He played along for a bit before ducking out. Simon had already beaten him to it. Excuse of going for a smoke didn't work since everyone just smoked in the tent anyways, and in the fourteen weeks of basic, Simon'd never even lit a match, but people were too caught up in their ow shit to notice. "You wanna be alone, Captain America?" Robbie teased, lightly nudging his shoulder. Everyone called Simon that. He had that dual citizenship thing but the accent had been with him too long to go anywhere, even though he'd spent the last five years living in London. That was what Robbie'd got out of him during their first few days together. "I can always push 'em towards going back to making fun of your accent. I mean, the 'don't give him a gun, Americans shoot anything that moves' jokes were getting stale, but I guess we can give it a shot." He paused a little, his voice softening, becoming more serious with his next words. "Really, you alright?"