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Wound Up

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Simon’s been trying to knit me a hat. He’s taken up knitting recently and even though it’s the hottest time of the year, he’s decided that because of my low body heat, I need a yellow and pink knitted cap. He’s not helping me preserve my hardass image. (Not that anything Simon-related helps me maintain that image - I practically run squealing into his arms any time I see him). 


He’s currently sitting on the couch, legs folded underneath him, and tail curled around the arm of the sofa. He’s leaning far enough forward that his wings have enough space to spread out and that he can have his knitting project six centimeters away from his nose. I’m lying down on my back and I’ve got my head just resting on his thigh, but I’m gearing up to move because the ends of the yarn keep hitting me in the face and I can’t focus on my book.


“Simon,” I say, exasperated as I reach up to brush yarn out of my eyes. I’ve had enough of this.


He’s immediately on the defense. “I’ve never done this before, Baz!” He tugs the mostly-finished hat away from my face and sets it on the arm of the couch. 


“That’s right obvious, love.” 


Simon flicks my shoulder with his tail. “Your choice to put your face in my knitting,” he mutters. 


I frown up at him. “I’m trying to retain some sort of affection with my boyfriend while he’s morphing into a seventy-five-year-old grandmother way before his time.” 


Simon grunts and tugs on a strand of my hair. “I’m just trying to make you something nice.” 


“I know, darling,” I sigh. I don’t want to argue with him, even about just this. (Plus, he’s so pretty when he’s concentrating on knitting). I sit up and adjust my position so I’m sitting as close to him as possible, but he can put his knitting into his lap and not bother my face with it. 


Simon’s wing curls around my shoulders and I press my head into the crook of his neck, kissing lightly just under his jaw. I press my leg over the top of his and tuck my toes underneath his ankle to keep his leg against mine. His tail winds around our ankles and I can’t help the smile that tugs at my mouth. 


I prop my book up in my lap, but I’m quite distracted by watching Simon knit. He’s pretty clumsy, his hands just a little bit too big for the knitting needles, and he keeps poking his thumbs with the pointy ends, grunting a bit in annoyance. 


It’s endlessly endearing. 


“It’s almost done,” Simon says after it’s been a few minutes. He’s been saying that for the past three days, but looking back down at his knitting project, I think he might be right this time. 



The hat’s finished two days later and Simon decides to make a big deal out of giving it to me. 


He’d texted me at 6:23 in the morning ( seriously? ), asking me to come over whenever I was free. I didn’t wake up until around 9:30 (like a regular person), but went over immediately - I mean, I stopped for a coffee on the way because I’m not an animal - because why would I spend my time anywhere else when my boyfriend wants me with him? 


When I get to the flat, the door’s unlocked, which is typical. What’s not typical is the ball of yarn sitting on the floor right inside the doorway, a long string of unraveled yarn leading down the hallway towards Simon’s room. 


I sigh and roll my eyes, but I pick up the yarn and start to walk across the living room, wrapping the excess yarn as I go. It’s like he’s left me a bloody breadcrumb trail like Hansel and Gretel. 


“Simon?” I call out as I approach his door, which is just barely open so the yarn isn’t squashed in the frame. 


He doesn’t answer, but I’m sure he’s waiting there with some idiotic surprise. (I love him so much for it). 


I push the door open and immediately regret the decision. 


Simon’s standing just in front of his bed, fully naked, with the hat he’s finished knitting me just over his crotch. He’s holding it there with both hands and grinning at me like he’s offering me the Olympic gold medal in something


“What the fuck, Snow?” 


Simon grins even wider (I didn’t think it was possible). “I finished it,” he says. He’s so bloody proud of himself. 


“And how do you expect to give it to me?” I ask, dropping the ball of yarn on the desk by the door. Simon’s bold, but I don’t think he’s naked-in-front-of-his-boyfriend-while-not-having-sex-with-him bold. 


Simon’s teeth are on full display as he grins and lifts the hat from his crotch. I have half a mind to look away, but it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. 


“Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask, gawking. 


Simon has really outdone himself. He has knitted a very small (but not that small) version of the hat he’s made me and he’s wearing it on the tip of his dick. 


“Now you can match!” he insists. I know he’s taking the piss, but I’d really like to deck him when I get the chance. Simon steps over to me (I can’t take my eyes off his dick) and hands me the larger hat. 


I turn it around in my hands, admiring the clumsy but generally neat work. Even though my boyfriend is the biggest moron on the planet, I can’t help but feel a little teary at him making me something with his bare hands. 


Speaking of bare. 


“Are you just going to leave that on there?” I sneer. 


Simon rolls his eyes and is close enough that he can grab onto my hips and tug me to him. Despite the penis decoration he has on, I still like the feeling of him against me. I always have. 


“I thought you’d like it.” 


“No, you didn’t.” 


He smiles and kisses my cheek. “Alright, I didn’t. Should’ve seen your face.” 


Crowley, I hate him. 


“Please put that thing away,” I say, reaching up with my free hand to gently touch Simon’s jaw. 


Simon shakes his head and whispers, “Hope you didn’t like your hair today.” Before I can respond, he’s grabbed the hat out of my hands and is shoving it on my head. 


It’s pushed some of my hair into my eyes and I’m sure I look like an idiot, but I can’t be arsed to care that much because Simon’s smile is burning into my soul. 


“How does it look?” I ask, rolling my eyes and pushing some of my hair out of my eyes. 


“Incredible. Whoever made that for you must love you a lot.” 


“I think he does.” 


Simon holds me for a minute before I can convince him to take the fucking hat off his dick and put pants on. I don’t take the hat off. I think I’m starting to like it.