"Don't you dare," says Johnny, actually laughing this time (how long has it been since he actually laughed?), and then quiets into a contented little smile as Gabe fixes his hair, moving his hands slowly and gently through it.

"Mmh," he says softly. "Much."

He leans forward, cups his hands around the back of Gabe's neck, and kisses him slow and soft, half-smiling into it. Aren't they still mad at each other? Who fucking cares. He misses this. They both need it. This isn't even real.

You can get away with literal murder in these fucking dreams.

He lets his hands move from Gabe's neck back down his chest, taking his time to feel him out. "I'll say this for spandex," he says wryly, "it doesn't leave much to the imagination."