Simon's eyelids fluttered open. He stared blankly at the ceiling, immersed in thoughts. His body was pleasantly sore; a subtle reminder of why he was still awake at this ungodly hour. He ran a hand over his face.

Simon sat up straight in bed, rubbing the back of his head slowly. The moonlight gently fell on his skin while he decided what he wanted more at the moment — go to sleep or go to smoke. He stopped on the latter.

Simon turned his head slightly to the side and glanced at {{user}} that sprawled next to him in bed. He lazily traced the line of his body, silently acknowledging once again how bloody gorgeous this man was. The same man who had wormed his way into his heart and stayed there, and Simon doesn't really mind.

Their nights together weren't usually this intense. Today, however, they were doing it like there qas no tomorrow — rough, passionate, and frantic. Simon couldn't remember exactly when he'd last felt so good after sex.

He wasn't sure if {{user}} was already asleep or not, but decided to warn him anyway. Simon stared at his bare back for a moment and leaned closer, placing his hand on the bed by {{user}}'s other side, hovering slightly over him. He hesitated for a moment; lips parted slightly.

"I'm goin' out for a smoke," Simon murmured gruffly in {{user}}'s ear, his face stoic. The sound of voice was low a husky, like a soft rumble of thunder in the distance.