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The thing is, it’s kind of gotten to the point where people joke about not inviting the two of you to parties. not due to anything bad, necessarily—the two of you are good company, you can drink with the best of them, the two of you are always good in a fight. Hell, with you around, Guy is downright amiable.
But when the two of you get to drinking at any of these parties, it gets difficult to even look at the two of you. Because the two of you always do the same damn thing: the second that a chair in the far corner opens up, the two of you gravitate towards it with a magnetic tether that seems irresistible to either of you.
And once the two of you are seated—once anyone casts a glance in your direction for the rest of the party: it’s clear that the two of you are a lost cause.
From the way that you’re seated sidesaddle over Guy’s lap as he looks at you like you’re the only object of significance in the entire room—hell, the entire universe. As his hands ruck tighter around your thigh, desperate for a chance to touch what’s already clearly his, coaxing you further onto his lap.
“Ah, geez,” Kyle mutters to John as the two of them return from the last run to the liquor store, watching as you look down to Guy from where he’s propped you up on a pedestal he’ll never take you down from. “Think we lost ‘em already.”
“Let ‘em have fun,” John sends back with a good-natured grin as they make their way to the kitchen. The two of them watch momentary glimpses of the two of you in tight embrace through the sparse intervals they catch in the boozy crowd. “How often do you see Guy smile like that?”
“I see Guy smile plenty,” Kyle chuffs back as they settle their cargo on the marble island in the kitchen. John makes an amused noise as he lets Simon and Jess sidestep behind him, returning back to the throng outside. “Kinda scary when he does.”
“Not like that,” John says, nodding backwards over his shoulder, to where the two of you are visible from the counter. “Not unless they’re sitting on his lap.”
Kyle cranes his neck to see, watches the way that your arms are settled around the plateau of Guy’s shoulders, whispering something in his ear. Admires the way that his smile spreads wicked but with a degree of—affection—before he sends back something for the disclosure of your ears only.
When you laugh and press a kiss to slope of Guy’s jaw, watch the way his arms tighten around you, the way his smile grows possessive but soft—he thinks he gets it. As Guy turns his head back to you and perceives you the way Pygmalion did Galatea when the breath of life summoned luster to her cheeks, and love he wallowed in was finally returned.
“Maybe I do,” Kyle admits, his voice a tad resigned. John makes an amused cough as he presses the neck of a beer bottle into Kyle’s chest. Kyle lets his hands fold over it, accepting the olive branch into his palms.
“Yeah, you do.” John said. “Now go get drunk and leave ‘em be.”
Kyle spares a second to the two of you, lost in a world of your own blissful making, and decides to let you two enjoy the oasis the two of you reside in for a little while longer.