Archive of Our Own

The air smells sweet around them. That scent will stick to Breach’s hair, their clothes, and the couch they're sitting on, and it's going to get them a handful of disapproving looks when they inevitably must venture out to find something to eat. They don't care. It's not prohibited. Just frowned upon.

The movie they're watching is just past the end of the first act when Breach's knee knocks against Gekko's. 

“Last hit.” He sounds exactly like his lungs have welcomed more smoke than oxygen for the past twenty minutes. 

It has become a tradition at this point. Even though they pass the joint back and forth, it always lingers in Breach's hands. It’s his stash, he's the one with the higher tolerance, and Gekko isn't a big fan of immobilising himself on the couch. But they still share the last hit for no good reason other than to get close to each other. 

It's so obvious, and the warm feeling that burns inside Gekko asks to be fed even further. 

His head is already tilted back when he turns to look at Breach. His gaze is met after a few seconds of staring, tired and reddened eyes looking back at him, and his cheeks start to hurt from the smile that won't drop. 

He has to take a deep breath in order to find the energy to push himself up. Breach's free hand is clumsy when it wraps around his waist to pull him closer before he has the chance to do it himself. That too makes him want to laugh. Metal fingers dig into his side when he climbs onto Breach's lap and ungraciously slumps against him. 

All of his movements are slow and therefore careful, though not very well calculated. A tired smile stays plastered on his lips when he stabilises himself with his hands on Breach’s shoulders, resisting the urge to lean in for a kiss immediately. Instead, he holds back and watches as Breach brings the remnants of the joint to his lips and takes a long hit, holding the smoke in his lungs. Breach's hand then reaches for Gekko's jaw to pull him closer, and Gekko gladly obliges, leaning in until their lips almost touch. 

He parts his lips after a small nudge from Breach, immediately welcoming the smoke that Breach exhales in his mouth. It’s difficult for him to inhale it when he just wants to laugh, but he manages. The familiar feeling tickles his throat on the way down, and he suppresses a cough until he has exhaled. 

Breach looks amused by his little struggle, though that might just be his default state at this point. He snuffs out the remaining embers of the joint between his fingertips and drops it on the armrest of the couch to be discarded later. 

“Good stuff,” Gekko manages to croak out before clearing his throat and composing himself again. He might be exaggerating just to make Breach laugh, and Breach might already know that. It doesn’t matter. Nothing that elaborate is going on in either of their heads. 

Breach answers with an agreeing hum. Simple as that. 

They simply stare at each other for a moment, silently asking if today is one of those days. It often is, and the question is mostly redundant. But it’s a nice moment to share, Gekko’s hands slowly moving from Breach’s shoulders up to his neck and jaw, and Breach’s hands finding their spots on Gekko’s hips in return. 

The question is answered when neither of them leans away in the slightest, and that seals it. 

Gekko takes the initiative. He cradles Breach's face and leans even closer to him, tilting his head over the backrest of the couch to kiss him. His lips part immediately, trying to find the best angle where Breach's moustache doesn't tickle his nose too much when he moves. 

The embrace turns into a proper hug when Breach’s arms wrap around him and he kisses him back, perfectly matching his energy - or lack thereof. It's lazy and they feel tired in the best way possible, slowly melting against each other. It's everything a Saturday evening should be. 

The haze in Gekko's head stops him from getting too overwhelmed by how much at home he feels right then and there. 

Breach is warm and solid and he has specs of salt stuck to his beard from the chips they ate earlier. His stubble is prickly against Gekko's palms, the scar tissue on his cheek still raised when Gekko brushes a fingertip over it. He's soft to lean against. The harshness of his arms contrasts with it all as they keep Gekko seated still on his lap.

Even then, he doesn't end up sitting very still. His hips slowly rock back and forth, and he sinks deeper onto Breach's lap every time that movement nudges his dick just right. No part of him wants to keep his mindless little moans silent, and he knows Breach doesn't want that either. 

With his head up in the clouds right beside Gekko’s, Breach is more responsive than usual. He doesn't feel self-conscious about the quiet hums that meet Gekko's lips every time the man's weight feels just right on top of him. He just wants to hold Gekko closer, at least judging by the steady grip that won’t ease. 

They're both packing; they both have the same silicone tucked inside their boxers. The soft, warm material is nice to rub your dick against, but it stops being satisfying after a while. It offers no resistance, nor does it harden like they feel it should. It moves alongside them, making it nearly impossible to chase the friction without having something to press their crotch against, something to anchor them. 

Gekko gets tired of it first, but not before the first frustrated whine slips past his lips. He breaks the kiss and leans back just an inch, finding himself barely able to open his eyes again. 

“I’m gonna suck your dick,” he mumbles, not bothering to be anything but blunt about it. Breach won't care anyway. 

He's right. Breach simply nods, seemingly more than content with getting to continue melting into the couch cushions. 

Gekko’s laugh stays muted behind his sealed lips. It's the most natural reaction he can have to what's currently happening inside his body. His limbs feel heavy and so does his head, and everything about Breach makes his heart feel warm. It's not the home he expected to find for himself, but he's more than glad he did. 

Even though he really wants to just stay slumped on top of his favourite pillow and maybe fall asleep there, his dick has other plans for him. And those are plans that he will gladly force his tired body to follow. 

With one more kiss pressed onto Breach's lips, he pushes himself back. Breach barely reacts. He keeps his head tilted over the backrest and his eyes peacefully shut. Only his arms ease their hold around Gekko to allow him to climb off his lap and get on the floor instead, bracing his knees for impact. 

For a moment, Gekko just stares at the sight in front of him; at the bulge in Breach's sweatpants and the way the hem of his shirt rides up just enough to show a glimpse of his stomach. A part of him wishes to bury his face somewhere between those two points of interest and simply stay there, inhaling Breach's familiar scent and slowly suffocating himself with a smile on his lips. 

Breach doesn't hurry him along. He seems more than content simply sitting there and waiting, maybe getting a little lonely without Gekko on his lap. 

Gekko's hands wander along Breach's thighs and push the hem of his shirt further up, revealing more of his stomach. A sigh leaves his lungs immediately after when his fingertips get to caress the coarse hairs and dig into the soft tissue below. 

“I love you.” The words leave his lips on autopilot, just as a whisper. 

Breach's response is a very quiet “You too.” 

His thoughts stagger after that. All he manages to think about is how nice and warm and secure Breach feels and just how much he would like to bite him. 

Instead of doing that, he pulls himself together with a deep breath and sits up straighter. His hands move to Breach's sides and tug on the waistband of his sweats, enamoured by the way his knuckles dig into Breach's skin. He resists the urge to simply grab and squeeze whatever soft parts of Breach that he can. 

It takes a few more tugs before Breach finally lifts his weight off the couch and lets Gekko pull his pants and boxers down for him. He exhales heavily when he sits back down, just a bit dramatic about it. 

Gekko stifles a laugh. He presses a kiss on Breach's thigh before leaning his head against that same spot. He needs a moment. He already knows that the angle will be both inconvenient and absolutely perfect for him. 

It seems like Breach knows that too. He sits a little lower and spreads his legs more comfortably with his boxers and sweatpants now pooling at his ankles. He lifts his head and gives Gekko a questioning look now that his movement got Gekko to perk up as well. 

“Did you change your mind?” he asks. 

Gekko shakes his head slowly. 

“No, I'm just… looking.” 

Now he can't stifle his laugh. It comes out as a stupid giggle, his entire core shaking with it. 

He hears Breach huff out a laugh above him before a heavy hand reaches for the back of his head. 

“Look closer,” Breach mutters. He sounds amused, like he's holding back a real laugh. 

Even as another giggle bubbles in Gekko's chest, he still does as he's told and kindly instructed. He leans forward and rests his forearms on Breach's thighs, his brows furrowing for just a second as he figures out what to do. 

Breach's dick peeks out a little behind the bush of pubic hair, and that's about it. 

It's a whole ordeal.

Gekko’s fingers work their way between Breach’s legs, carefully spreading him open and pushing back the tissue above his dick to get it on full display. He examines the sight before him for a second before tilting his head at a specific angle, leaning in to wrap his lips around Breach’s dick while keeping his nose from fully burying in Breach's stomach. It's easy when it comes from muscle memory. And he can always adjust along the way - that's the pro to not having hair long enough for anyone to grip. 

Even the first contact his mouth makes with Breach's dick is rewarded with a deep exhale above him. It makes him feel warm as it awakens a familiar horde of butterflies in his stomach. It also encourages him to lean even further in and get even more of Breach's dick onto his tongue before sucking. 

Breach's next exhale is a low groan. The butterflies in Gekko's stomach absolutely love it. He must have been thinking about this for a while already - as if his dick being fully hard from the get-go wasn't telling enough. 

It's more than perfect for him too. He loves the feeling of Breach's dick in his mouth as much as he loves the inconveniences that come with it. The bush of pubic hair that tickles his nose and the soft but suffocating mass that he gets to bury his face in, they're both issues that he wouldn't change for the world. 

He prefers this over the toying and teasing, and he knows Breach does too. It's infinitely more satisfying getting to have his lips wrapped around the stiff and pulsating tissue of Breach's fully hard dick than lingering on the touches that got him to that point. He doesn't care about that and Breach doesn't care for it. He just wants his dick sucked. 

Every deep inhale of his presses his stomach more against Gekko's face, and every exhale is close to letting a groan out alongside it. Just like before, the haze in Breach's head keeps him from thinking about it too much. If having his pretty boyfriend on his knees finally makes him a little vocal, then so be it. He has committed worse crimes. 

Though Gekko can't really feel it on his tongue since his lips are sealed around Breach's dick, he can tell that Breach is also wet. Really wet. He always blames it on the weed but Gekko doesn't buy it. Breach can have his shield. 

That doesn't mean that Gekko won't pay attention to it, whether or not that's to Breach's liking. 

With Breach's dick in his mouth already, he can free one of his hands to serve a better purpose than to provide him with easier access. His other hand still keeps Breach's dick standing upright with a thumb pushing back the tissue above it, but his free hand moves lower. It actually doesn't have to move much before he gets what he wants: a lewd, squelching sound when his fingertips meet all the precum that threatens to drip out of Breach and onto the couch. 

The sensation, combined with the sound of it, makes Gekko's hips buck against nothing, and all he gets is a little stimulation from his packer rubbing against his dick. He has to repeat the movement of both his fingers and his hips; his brain doesn't allow him to do anything else. A new sense of warmth rises to his cheeks and drops down to his stomach. 

Breach doesn't sound as pleased. He lets out a grunt, already telling Gekko to cut it out before a single word even leaves his lips. His knee knocks against Gekko. 

“That's unnecessary,” he mutters, an annoyed strain to his voice.

Gekko's brain automatically figures out the perfect way to be a smartass about the indirect command that tries to tell him to cut it out. His lips leave Breach's dick and he finally gets a proper breath of air into his lungs, though that doesn't make his next decision any more thought-out. 

Before Breach can complain about anything, Gekko soothes him with a thumb continuing to rub his spit-covered dick, not completely denying him what he wants. 

It works almost as a distraction for two of Gekko's fingers sliding inside him without a warning. 

Gekko hears the soft grunt and he feels the muscles clench around his fingers, but he doesn't register either as a sign for him to stop before he even gets started. His fingers are buried knuckle-deep inside Breach without even the slightest resistance, and the feeling makes his head spin. 

He looks up at Breach, his shiny lips parted in what can only be described as awe. 

Such a tough guy with a reputation bad enough to scare half of the world into hating him, but so soft and sweet on the inside. Literally. Big and loud and intimidating, and even as his body clenches around Gekko's fingers, he's still the most delicate thing that hand has ever touched. It doesn't help that he's dripping wet, feeling like hot silk at Gekko's fingertips, fully coating the digits after a single touch to make sure that they feel more than welcome inside him. 

When Gekko pulls his fingers out, it's only to add a third to the group before sliding them back inside Breach. Still, there is no resistance, just an annoyed huff. It's a snug fit, but his fingers barely stretch anything. Like they're the perfect size for Breach. 

Still, the lack of discomfort doesn't keep Breach from complaining. 

“Mateo,” he grits out a shaky warning. 

The blanks are right there for Gekko to fill in on his own, but he instead chooses to slowly start moving his fingers in and out of Breach. The pattern he draws inside him is gentle and careful, like he's touching something fragile. His thumb keeps massaging Breach's dick, paying close attention to the spots he knows Breach especially likes, almost as if to avoid startling him. 

His mouth moves before he can think about it too much. 

“I could fit my whole hand inside you.” 

Those words, as adoring as they are, make Breach tense. His entire body reacts, trying to make him lean back. 

“No, you won't,” he says quickly, too quickly to clear his voice or get the words to bend the right way. 

Gekko lets out a soft scoff, finally managing to relax. It's like Breach's immediate rejection burst some bubble that he had been inside of, and now he's back in reality. His head is still in the clouds, that's for sure, but he's present. And again knuckle-deep in a pussy he rarely gets to feel from the inside. He rolls his eyes. 

“I'm not gonna,” he mutters, unimpressed. “I'm just saying that I could.” 

“And I'm saying that you can't,” Breach is quick to shoot him down again, this time raising his head to glare at him too. It's not a very effective method of intimidation; his cheeks are too flushed for him to assert any dominance right now. 

For a moment, Gekko simply looks back at him, trying to map out the most fitting path for him to take next. Though he loves kind of getting on Breach's nerves, he doesn't want to take it too far, especially not in a vulnerable situation like this. 

Breach's expression is mostly unreadable, but Gekko deduces that the ice he's currently standing on is not too thin to test a little. 

“Can I keep my hand here?” he asks, putting on a sweet voice. 

Now it's Breach's turn to roll his eyes. He rests his head over the couch cushions again and exhales deeply, giving in. 

“Whatever.” 

His change in position allows Gekko to easily hide his stifled laugh, though it's still apparent in his voice. 

“You're so dramatic,” he scolds without an ounce of malice. 

Breach lets out a vague hum before his hand blindly seeks out the back of Gekko's head again, and Gekko takes the hint. He readjusts his own hand, only pushing two of his fingers inside Breach, before leaning in and trying to get Breach's dick back into his mouth. 

Even though he doesn't do it perfectly, he still manages. And Breach immediately rewards him with a satisfied sigh and a gentle ruffle of his hair; he is forgiven. 

The new angle is not great, but he's determined to make it work. 

He pushes his fingers deeper and curls them, having to repeat the movement a few times before Breach's breath hitches. The sound brings a smile to his unfortunately occupied lips and only encourages him to continue further. He feels hot all over, still trying to grind his dick against something more than his packer, completely enamoured by Breach's reaction to something he so often claims to feel indifferent about. 

Though it's not much, he can feel the tension start to build up in Breach's body as he keeps curling his fingers inside him. It's apparent in the way he tries not to squirm, how his legs twitch, how he holds his breath in an attempt to keep his composure. Some part of him moves constantly, and it's the best encouragement and praise that Gekko could get. 

It only feeds him and his insatiable need to break Breach's controlled exterior. He wants to get under Breach's skin, use the haziness of his head to his advantage, and make him come apart at the seams. He's rarely granted that privilege; Breach doesn't like not being in control. But when his judgement is clouded, it's not really up to him. 

Gekko focuses on his fingers, where they are and how he curls them further. Faster and harder, as much as the muscles in his arm allow him. He knows he has set a good pace when he hears Breach inhale sharply and spread his legs more, practically pushing against his hand while his muscles clench around the intrusion. A sense of accomplishment fills him, and he won't forgive the universe if his hand tires out before he can make Breach come. 

It doesn't seem like he'll need to hold that grudge. 

Breach's breaths are heavy and irregular, low groans slipping out here and there as his legs keep twitching to alleviate the tension in his muscles. He's not far from rocking his hips against Gekko's hand and mouth, simply letting the pleasure guide his actions. 

It's absolutely Gekko's favourite place to be, on the receiving end of this need for a release, and he does his all to stay still and continue exactly what he has been doing so far. No changes, no adjustments, no gasping for air. His heartbeat pounds between his ears but all he cares about is getting Breach there. 

And just like he assumed, he succeeds at that. Quite easily too. 

With more involuntary movements and sounds of raw pleasure escaping his lips than he intended to allow, Breach's body tenses for one more time before it all slips from his grasp. A groan, deep and guttural, breaks from his chest as he pulls Gekko's head closer, forcing him to stay still and meet the grinding movement of his hips as he brings himself to orgasm. 

Gekko holds his breath. With his nose buried in Breach's stomach, it's all he can do. He feels Breach's legs tremble on either side of him, a mark of his accomplishment, and that feels more important than getting oxygen in his lungs. 

He stays there for as long as Breach wants him to, simply enjoying the feeling of Breach's dick pulsating in his mouth and the muscles clamping down on his fingers like they never want him to pull out. His body is stuck and his thoughts spin in circles. He waits until Breach has had enough and shoves him back. 

Both of them gasp for breath when he does that. Gekko finally gets an undisturbed breath in, and Breach gets to relax from the constant stimulation. 

The most important thing Gekko registers is the hand that blindly caresses his hair, a silent ‘thank you’ for his good work. It brings a smile to his lips and he leans against it. Then he feels Breach nudge his arm with his leg as another unspoken sentence he immediately understands. Get your goddamn fingers out. 

Gekko does it slowly, feeling how tense Breach's muscles are in the aftermath of his orgasm. He knows the feeling and it's not a nice one. It distorts his smile into an apologetic grimace, and even the newly-added lubricant doesn't help. He manages with only a slight wince from Breach, and he can't help but lick the digits clean right after, maybe exaggerating just a bit. 

He's left to kneel on the floor, leaning back to let Breach pull his pants back up. Though standing up is the last thing his body wants to do right now, he still forces it to comply. At least Breach is right there to work as leverage so he can push himself back to his feet. 

He stands in front of Breach, swaying a little while looking down at him. A warm feeling ignites in his chest when Breach looks up at him, cheeks flushed and still steadying his breath. He looks almost embarrassed and it's close to too endearing for Gekko's heart to handle. 

His arms reach for Breach's shoulders, a point of stability for him when he tries to climb onto his lap again. Emphasis on the word ‘tries’. Because Breach meets his efforts halfway with his hands grabbing Gekko's hips to keep him in place. 

Gekko's brows furrow in confusion, but Breach speaks up first. He already guides Gekko to the side, suddenly seeming distant when he nods towards the television. 

“Watch the movie,” he says, his voice rough. 

Gekko blinks. He had forgotten about the movie entirely, and this is not how he had wanted to remember it. The heat disappears from his chest. It leaves behind a void. 

“What?” 

“Sit down and watch the movie,” Breach repeats. There is nothing new to pick up on from his tone. His entire demeanour is blank. 

Gekko starts to pout, on the verge of over-exaggerating as a shield for himself. 

“Are you mad at me?” he asks, somewhat as a joke - yet another shield. The sudden rejection stings him but he hopes that it doesn't show. 

The question finally gets a reaction out of Breach. He sighs and his expression softens. 

“No.” His voice stays stern. “Just sit down.” 

The grip on Gekko's hips doesn't ease, and he is left to do what Breach tells him to do. It's easier than trying to argue about it. 

He bites down on his bottom lip before giving in. 

“Okay,” he says quietly, and sits down next to Breach. 

A sudden wave of insecurity makes him question if he should sit where he previously did, with his thigh glued to Breach's, or if Breach wants space. His eyes refuse to focus on the television in front of them, instead turning towards Breach and his unreadable side profile. The pout returns to his lips. All of his feelings tangled together are too big to fit inside his chest. He starts to bounce his leg. 

Breach glances back at him, a smile making the corners of his lips twitch. The sight is somehow comforting and further confusing, but luckily Breach doesn't leave him guessing about his intentions for long. 

He watches as Breach leans away from him, and the next thing he registers is something hard digging into his chest. It's Breach's elbow, pressing him into the couch cushions while a cold, metal hand sneaks into his pants, underneath both waistbands. 

Gekko can't help but gasp in surprise, immediately gripping Breach's arm and hugging it close to himself - as if it wasn't already glued to his chest. A surprised huff of a laugh interrupts his suddenly unsteady breaths when Breach's hand quickly retreats from his pants with his packer and tosses it to the side. That laugh ends with a deep breath when Breach's hand slips under his sweats again, this time staying on top of his boxers for a very good reason. 

His eyelids fall shut and he sinks deeper into the cushions, spreading his legs to meet the two fingertips that press against his dick. It's coarse through the fabric of his boxers, but it's as soft as it can get right now; much better than his packer previously. His inhale shudders when Breach starts to move his fingers, drawing circles against the stiff tissue below. 

Gekko tilts his head back and forces his eyes open to look at Breach, finding him only glancing back. 

“You're such a dick,” he manages to complain before his voice wavers into silence. Breach applies more pressure to interrupt him. 

He also answers with a hum, agreeing. 

Gekko rolls his eyes. He tries to lean against Breach but finds himself stuck in place between the heavy arm and the backrest of the couch. He sighs. 

“I thought you were—” He inhales sharply, his hips bucking against Breach's hand where a bolt of pleasure shoots up his body. “Fuck. I thought you were actually mad at me,” he manages to say, feeling out of breath from that sentence alone. 

His eyes are barely open, but he can still see the stupidly smug look on Breach's face when he turns towards him. 

“I told you I wasn't,” Breach says. He stays awfully neutral, like nothing is going on, and it only makes Gekko tighten the grip he has on his arm. 

Though Gekko wants to stay annoyed - or at least sound the part - he can't help but succumb to the mixture of sensations in his body. His body betrays him and his stupid need to argue right now. 

The harshness of Breach's fingers is so familiar when it meets his sensitive dick, drawing patterns against it through the increasingly wet fabric of his boxers. Even as he squirms, he's forced to stay in place with Breach's arm against his torso. It brings him an odd sense of comfort, or maybe that's just from getting to hug the arm that's twice the size of his own. 

Still, he can't let Breach have the last word. 

He takes in a deep breath, knowing that Breach will try to cut him off with an added nudge against his dick. 

“Fuck off,” he mutters. 

Instead of feeling an added wave of warmth hit his core, a pleasurable sting between his legs, he gets nothing. Breach pulls his hand away. 

In that second, Gekko can feel the muscles in his stomach contracting when his body blindly tries to get that feeling to return. It doesn't. He takes a deep breath when the sudden tension alleviates and he can actually breathe again. He shakes his head. 

“No, don't—” He has to take another quick breath. “I didn't mean it. Don't fuck off.” 

He hears Breach let out a scoff. 

“That's what I thought.” 

Breach's words are almost drowned out by the moan that Gekko lets out the second Breach's fingers return to his dick. As much as he hates forfeiting the last word, a smile still forms on his lips. The physical sensation that's bringing him closer and closer to the edge, combined with the warmth of loving this big idiot, could save even the worst of his days and decimate the strongest need to come out on top after an argument. 

And why wouldn't it?

The pressure against his chest grows with every shuddering breath he takes and holds in for way too long, but he keeps hanging on to Breach's arm like it's his last lifeline. His lips stay curled into a smile until they part to keep the oxygen flowing into his aching lungs. He doesn't care about sitting still; Breach's arm keeps him still enough. His hips start to rock against Breach's hand, giving him wave after wave of added pressure that shoots right to his core. 

Little whines, somewhere between needy and ecstatic, escape him as he focuses on the feeling, how it builds inside him and just how much he wants it to release exactly like this. 

He thinks Breach is well aware of just how close he's getting from the way he squirms and keeps trying to readjust the grip on his arm. The only concern he has is Breach doing the same thing again, stopping abruptly for no good reason just because he pushed some limits too. He really hopes it won't happen - at least for the most part. A tiny part of him hopes that Breach does it, just because he knows that he couldn't do it on his own, deny his own pleasure anymore. 

But Breach plays nice and stays reliable with the tireless movement of his fingers and the steady pressure against Gekko's chest. Even as Gekko's whines grow louder and more urgent, even as the movement of his hips turns involuntary, he doesn't change a thing. 

Gekko gets to sit there and squirm all he wants until the pleasure finally reaches a tipping point. He tenses, pushing as hard as he can against Breach's hand while white-knuckling the panelling of his arm. Without thinking, he decides to hold his breath before it gets punched out of him with a high-pitched whine and a wave of relief that almost drowns him. 

The satisfaction settles in instantly, his muscles letting go of the tension they had been harbouring for the past handful of minutes. White noise buzzes inside his head when his heavy breaths slow down and the cushions swallow him. With a sigh, he finally drops his arms to hang loosely by his sides, not wanting to do a thing anymore. There is a stiffness in his fingers from squeezing the unforgiving metal too hard, and it makes him want to laugh. 

Breach's fingers keep moving, though the pattern he draws slows down as the bliss spreads throughout Gekko's body. Then he just keeps the digits still, letting Gekko feel how his dick pulsates against the metal. 

A new sense of tiredness hits Gekko immediately as he comes down from his high. His eyelids feel too heavy to open, his heartbeat too slow to keep the adrenaline pumping through him anymore. There is still a small smile on his lips as he melts into the cushions. 

Breach eventually retreats his hand, resting it on Gekko's inner thigh instead. His thumb caresses the fabric of Gekko's sweats, and he gives him a squeeze before turning to look at him. 

Gekko's eyes are barely open, but that's not an issue when he leans against Breach and his unwelcoming shoulder. He could grab a pillow to soften the metal, but he really can't be bothered. It only takes a few seconds for him to change his mind and pull Breach's hand away, then manoeuvre onto his side to lie down and rest his head on Breach's lap. Curling up comfortably - with his packer now somewhere at his feet, long forgotten - he knows he could fall asleep right then and there. 

He can feel Breach's muted laughter when it shakes him, and he smiles as well. Breach's hand ends up resting on his shoulder, an anchoring weight that draws patterns on his skin through his shirt. 

Even though it's the most comfortable spot Gekko could find for himself, he still has to rehash the old argument.

“You're still a dick,” he mutters, his words barely comprehensible. It looks like he's sulking, now the dramatic one, but he knows that Breach sees through it. 

Again, he feels Breach move with his huffed laugh. The hand on his shoulder gives him a squeeze.

“Who am I to fight that?” Breach asks in response. Then, a few seconds later, he comes up with a proper retort. He nudges Gekko. “But it takes one to know one.” 

A burst of laughter escapes Gekko before he can force himself to seem unimpressed. His facade might be paper-thin, but it's still something. 

He shakes his head, a wide smile on his lips and a warm feeling burning in his chest. He really loves this big idiot. 

“Yeah, right,” he says, holding back another laugh. “Speak for yourself, loser.”