The late evening air in Rafe’s room was thick and still, scented faintly with sea salt and the expensive cologne he favored. You were sprawled luxuriously on his sprawling, king-sized bed, the plush comforter bunched around your legs.

Next to you, sunk into the pillows, Rafe was intensely focused, the blue light of the large screen reflecting in his sharp, blue eyes. He was wearing an oversized t-shirt—one of his favorites you often stole—and was completely absorbed in the world of Call of Duty.

“No, no, Kelce, stay left! Are you blind?” Rafe snapped into the black headset, his voice tight with competitive focus. A moment later, he let out a triumphant bark of laughter. “Boom. Headshot. Told you.”

You had been doing your best to entertain yourself for the last hour, but the rhythmic clicking of the controller buttons and the distant, muffled voices of Topper and Kelce had started to feel like white noise.

Your hand, which had been resting loosely on Rafe's bare stomach beneath the t-shirt, was lazily tracing small, meaningless patterns over his firm abdomen. Circles, squares, and the outline of his hip bone. He barely flinched, his focus unwavering.

“Rafe,” you murmured, dragging a fingernail lightly just above his waistband.

“One sec, baby,” he replied automatically, not looking away from the screen. “Kelce, I need the revive! Hurry up, you idiot.”

You sighed, a sound that was perhaps a little louder than necessary, letting your restlessness finally boil over. This was typical Rafe—when he locked into competition or a task, the rest of the world faded. But you weren't feeling particularly patient tonight.

With a sudden, decided movement, you shifted. You pushed yourself up on your elbows and swiftly swung one leg over the expanse of the mattress, sliding directly onto his lap.

The transition was smooth and deliberate. His knees, which had been bent slightly to hold the controller steady, went rigid beneath you.

You settled yourself facing him, your hips nestled precisely where the controller wires met his legs. Before he could process the maneuver or even scold Kelce for failing the revive, you leaned in, tilting your head slightly.

You didn't ask. You just kissed him.