Work Text:
Some days, being Spiderman is life or death- fighting supervillains or hordes of venom corps, facing the night bloody and aching and vaguely amazed to still be kicking a little longer. He still thinks it’s self-serving bullshit to call yourself a hero, but those are the days he can admit that maybe he feels it. To some degree, he gets it.
Most days aren't like that at all. Especially now, with the multiverse more stable and world-hopping anomalies less frequent. Hobie’s Earth is harsher than most, but after twenty one years, six of them as Spiderman, even that blurs into a kind of mundanity. He spends those days stopping muggings and break-ins (and then usually directing the thieves to whatever resources he knows of, because fuck turning them over to the cops), or grabbing the creeps following girls home after last call at the pub (no sympathy for those fuckers, though.) Protecting protesters in the mask when he’s not joining them out of it, or dismantling hostile architecture and chucking the torn out metal spikes into the canal. That's the real shit- the stuff that makes an actual difference for regular people rather than just their little interdimensional club. Hobie knows that, and that’s enough to keep him at it, even when he gets disheartened and overwhelmed by how much nothing ever feels like enough. But it's also those slow days that leave him antsy and wired, nowhere near able to fall into bed and comfortably black out with exhaustion. Insomnia's an old friend- well, frenemy- for Hobie, and short of drinking himself to sleep (which he knows he shouldn’t do as often as he used to), or giving up and picking at his guitar 'til sunrise, he’s never really found a way to beat it.
Those are normally the days he sets his watch to Earth-50101 and climbs in Pavitr’s window, into his bed, to bury his face in soft, warm skin and coconut-scented hair and let Pav tire him out properly .
But tonight he can’t, because in all the years they’ve been together, he still hasn’t convinced Pav that formal schooling is bollocks, so now Pav is up to his ears in some stupid assignment and has apologetically ordered Hobie to stay home til he’s finished. And bloody hell, Hobie may be a professional pain in the ass, but he’s also certifiably, embarrassingly in love, so he’s at least trying to obey.
And look, it's only been a week. Hobie Brown is not that pathetic. He’s independent to a fault, certainly more than used to being on his own, and both of them are older and busier than they used to be. They don’t see each other every day, and that’s okay. It’s just that this is the longest they’ve been apart in…years, actually. The inside of Hobie’s boat is a cozy mess with bits of Pav everywhere- gifts he’s given, clothes he’s left- and usually he finds it comforting, but tonight it just feels empty without him. Hobie just….it’s been a week, and he misses him.
…Okay, maybe he’s a little pathetic.
The multiversal video calling is still too glitchy to be of much use, but if he wants to see Pav’s face, he’s at least got that covered. Hobie’s a tinkerer, always has been- he builds things, fixes them. Guitars, record players and radios, interdimensional gadgets- whatever he can get his hands on. So when he'd found an only-a-bit-broken Polaroid camera while dumpster diving for food, he’d done what he does best and gotten it working again within a few days.
And then done the other thing he does best, which is to be an absolute menace.
There are pictures of all of them, pinned in a hodgepodge on the walls- Miles doing a dorky thumbs-up in front of his latest mural, Gwen sweaty and grinning as she drums, Mayday wearing Hobie’s mask, the spikes hilariously long on her tiny head. Some posed, most candid, because those are the real moments, the real expressions that he wants to remember.
But most of them are of Pav, because Hobie could spend a hundred years looking at him and never get tired of it.
There are tiny lines on his face now that weren’t there when they met. Hobie can see them in the pictures, stamped there by years of stress and injury and too little sleep- they’ve been through more as teenagers than most normal people in their entire lives. But still, Pavitr’s smile is the same as it’s ever been. There are a couple dozen smiles strewn across his bed now, dumped out from the box where he keeps them. One is a bright, manic grin, when he’d been crowing in victory as he finally beat Miles at some video game Hobie doesn’t even remember because he’d been too occupied watching him. There’s another of him cooking, sleeves rolled up, concentrating but with a gentle little curl to his lips as he’d hummed and chatted. But Hobie’s favorite is the one where Pav is looking straight into the camera, eyes sparkling in the nighttime lights of Mumbattan, smiling the smile that’s just for Hobie, like he’s the only person in the universe, in any universe.
Y’know what? Fuck this.
He’s not really sure which one does it, but something in his self control finally snaps. He flops gracelessly onto the bed next to the pile of polaroids and fumbles for his heavily modified flip phone, the one the rest of the spiders always give him shit about. (Look, getting a smartphone to work in his universe is an ongoing project. It’s already damn impressive that he’s managed calls and texts between universes on a bloody Nokia, but it turns out the indestructibility is kind of necessary when you’re messing with it that much.)
It’s at least a little gratifying that it only takes a ring and a half for the call to be picked up.
“Hi, jaanu,” comes Pav’s voice, and it’s the sweetest thing Hobie’s ever heard.
“Hey, luv,” Hobie rasps in reply, trying not to sound as relieved as he knows he must. “Sorry, I know you ain’t done yet, I just-”
He’s cut off by Pav chuckling. “It’s okay. Honestly, I’m surprised you lasted this long.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Hobie murmurs, rolling his eyes. “Been missin’ my daily dose of sunshine, what can I say?”
There’s a little quiet moment, and Hobie can picture the dark flush of his cheeks whenever Hobie calls him that, and the way he rolls his eyes in turn to play it off. It’s so cute. “And here I expected you to turn up in my room to distract me days ago.”
He probably would have a few years ago, but sue him, Hobie’s grown up a little. Not that he cares any more about academics than he ever did, but he cares about making Pav’s life easier and less stressful where he can. That’s part of loving such a damn overachiever. “Me?” he asks, mock-innocent and full of played-up offense. “Never done anythin’ like that in my entire life.”
That makes Pav laugh for real, so Hobie’s done his job. “I miss you too, chomu.” There's a long pause, and then- "Ugh, you have your shoes on the bed again, don't you?"
“Wh-” Hobie glances down at his well-worn Doc Martens, the blue and yellow laces half-untied but still very much on his feet. "...Do not."
There's a rustle that must be Pav shaking his head, and Hobie can hear the smug little smile in his voice. "You do. I can sense it."
Hobie snorts. "You got a Spidey sense for that?"
"No, just my desi sense," Pav deadpans. It's a well-worn topic for their bickering, and he seems to be mostly talking to himself when he adds, “So unsanitary.”
“Bugger off,” Hobie says lightly, laughing. Bloody hell, it's good to hear his voice. “How's the paper?”
Pavitr responds with a long-suffering sigh. “Going. I feel a little like my brain has turned into soup, but I should be able to have it finished by the deadline.” Hobie can picture the dark circles under his eyes just from the tone of his voice, but he wouldn’t be Pavitr if he wasn’t working himself into the ground on something or other. He knows better after so many years together to try to change that about him. “The end is in sight, the final stretch, light at the end of the tunnel, lauda, lassan. Just gotta stay focused.”
Hobie was secretly hoping for done in the next five minutes, actually, what a coincidence! but at least this is better than the kind of panicking he does when he gets really behind. He probably should just let him go, but for all the growing up he’s done, Hobie can still be a selfish man sometimes, especially when it comes to Pavitr. The idea of hanging up and going back to the late-night silence without him feels unbearable. “Think you can stay on for a bit?”
“I shouldn’t…” It’s the answer Hobie expected, so he tries not to be too disappointed, but then Pav hums. “I guess if I keep working, I can. Why, is everything okay? Did something happen today?”
There’s sudden concern in his voice, and Hobie quickly shakes his head. “Nah, nothin’ like that, don’t worry. Opposite, really. Day was dead boring, bit of barney with the pigs but nothin’ worth telling. Just can’t sleep.” Miss you , he almost says again, but he doesn’t, because. Not pathetic. Right.
Pav makes a sympathetic noise, and through the phone, and Hobie can hear the clicking of his keyboard as he types. He apparently wasn’t kidding about continuing his work, and Hobie tries not to be jealous of a fucking laptop just because Pav is touching it and not him. “What are you doing instead of sleeping, then?”
“Lookin’ at pictures,” Hobie mumbles, because yep, he’s never escaping the allegations of being pathetic now. Might as well own it. He pillows his head on one arm, letting the phone rest on the bed by his ear, and wiggles his bony hips around to get comfortable.
“Awww, who knew big scary Spider-punk was such a sap?” Pav giggles, as if he didn’t absolutely know that better than anyone. “Which ones?”
Hobie hums, perusing the pile before settling on a handful of newer additions. “Ones I took in Gwendy’s world last month, at that street fair thing.” The soft, bleeding colors of Earth-65 turn the polaroids to paintings, oddly beautiful even though really they’re just scenes of them all dicking around little stalls selling food and drinks and handmade knicknacks. There’s one of the grimace Miles had made while valiantly pretending to like the taste of beer, another of Gwen and Pav excitedly shoving scented candles into each other’s faces to smell. Pav is dressed much more comfortably than the crisp button-downs he wears for school, in a deep blue tunic-length shirt and loose gray pants, hair pulled back into a little bun now that it’s long enough. There had been music that day too, some singer-songwriter duo who were far too soft and folksy for Hobie’s personal taste but had added to the atmosphere nicely enough. It had all been very domestic, very...normal. Not the prescribed “this is the correct way to do Life” sort of normal that Hobie detests, but the “this is how things could be if we weren’t all risking our lives every day” kind. He’s come to see the value in that. “That shade of blue’s pretty on you, innit? You oughta wear it more.”
“Maybe I will.” There’s a quiet moment, as if Pav is thinking, considering. “Just those?” he asks lightly, and it sounds innocent enough, but-
Oh. Oh.
The box he keeps the photos in is a clever thing, with a false bottom that pulls out to reveal an inch or so of extra space. He keeps a few more pictures in there, the ones that his friends definitely don’t need to see if they ever go digging around in his shit. He picks them up gently, touching more carefully than he does the others, and fans them out in his hand.
Nope, these are just for him.
“Nah, luv” he says, voice suddenly dropping low. “Not just those.”
“Which one, then?”
“You know which.”
“Tell me anyway.” There’s something authoritative in his voice, something that doesn’t come out very often, that makes Hobie’s mouth go dry and his clothes feel tight and itchy.
“Thought you had to keep workin’,” he mumbles, pulling at the hem of his shirt to untuck it and expose his stomach to the open air, suddenly craving Pav’s mouth on his skin.
“I am working.” And sure enough, somehow, Hobie can still hear the distant clacking of keys. But the tone of the call has changed, the air charged exactly the way he’d wanted even though Pav is still universes away. He lets the silence hang for a moment, just the clicking and Pav’s soft breathing, and looks back at the photos in his hand.
The first picture is the only one he’d taken without Pav knowing, not that he’d minded later when Hobie had shown it to him. He’s sound asleep in Hobie’s bed in the dim pink light of sunrise- one hand resting on the pillow, face unlined and smooth and free of stress, save for Hobie’s lipstick from the previous day smeared a deep blood-red over his lips and chin. A smattering of bruises trail down his neck and chest, past the dark curved scars under his pecs and following the happy trail down his stomach to where the rest is hidden by blankets. Hobie’s a biter, he can’t help it- Pav is the only thing in the world that gets him possessive like that, and the little hisses and mewls he makes are impossible to resist. (Besides, with his enhanced healing, the marks are usually gone by afternoon, so it’s not that big of a deal.) His perfect hair is an absolute wreck, too, which is always a point of pride.
A pretty sight for sure, but not enough. Not what he wants right now. Too sweet.
The second is less so- a downward shot of Pav on his knees, Hobie’s cock buried deep in his throat. He’d raised a brow when Hobie had asked to take it, quipped you really think you’ll forget how this looks?- but the look he’d given in the actual photo was deceptively coy, all big-eyed and innocent in the way Hobie absolutely knows he isn’t anymore.
But the last one…the last is the one he settles on. Pav had been down that day- Hobie doesn’t even remember now about what, just that it was the kind of weary, stress-heavy sadness that dimmed his natural sunshine, and Hobie never could abide that. It just felt wrong. And when he’d asked what he could do, Pav had locked eyes with him and said distract me.
And, well. Who could say no to an ask like that?
So Hobie had splayed him out on their bed and eaten him out like his last meal on Earth, licking and sucking and nipping that hormone-swollen clit he can’t ever get enough of, then lapping as deep into him as his tongue could reach before replacing it with his fingers- one, two, then three and then four, all the way to the knuckles of his hand. Had worked him to incoherent pleading, and only managed to drag it out for a few extra minutes before wringing orgasm after screaming, thrashing orgasm from him. He’d lost himself in it, in giving and giving, much more than ever before- it would have been easy to fold Pav in half and fuck him, he’d been practically begging for it, but Hobie had no thought about his own pleasure or his own body- had hardly even remembered that he had a body. He was just an extension of Pav, a tool to make him feel good while he drowned in the taste of him, all concept of time or space or language long gone. Being on his knees like that was the only kind of worship he would ever need, the sharp pull of Pav’s hands clenched in his braids his last tether to reality. He’d kept going until the cries had died down to pitiful, overstimulated whimpers and one last twitching, trembling spasm, and only then had he stumbled shakily to his feet, stripping his throbbing cock for what had to be the shortest time of his life before painting Pav’s stomach and thighs and pussy with pearly white.
And as he’d slowly sunk back to earth, the thrum of arousal fading from his ears, he’d heard Pav whisper thank you.
And then there was the picture. It’s the aftermath of it all- Pav lying back, boneless and sweaty, tears streaked down his cheeks. His legs still spread wide, cunt gaping open and glistening with spit and slick and cum, an obvious wet spot on the sheets beneath him. But there’s an exhausted little smile on his lips that he couldn’t have mustered an hour before, because Hobie had bloody well done what Pav asked of him.
He looks absolutely ruined, captured on film like that forever, and it’s the filthiest, most gorgeous thing Hobie’s ever seen. He wants to be buried with this picture, actually. Who cares if that makes the funeral awkward? He won't be there for it anyways.
He’s half hard before he even realizes it just from remembering it, his cock beginning to tent the soft black skirt he’s wearing, breath quickening. It takes him another moment to process that Pavitr is talking to him again.
“You didn’t answer me, jaan," he admonishes softly, and Hobie swallows thickly, nods even though Pav can’t see him. He finds himself suddenly wishing that he could, and vowing to go back to work on the dimension-to-dimension video calling as soon as they’re done here. Fuck sleep, nobody really needs sleep, obviously sleep’s just a government conspiracy to steal a third of your day.
“Th’ one from a couple months ago,” he murmurs, thumbing over the picture as if it really were Pav’s skin. Chuckling. “When I ate you within an inch of your fuckin’ life.”
“Mmm, I thought so.” Hobie had expected a laugh in return, maybe an exasperated of course it’s that one, you’re obsessed, but Pav’s voice is still oddly quiet, silky. Captivating. “You were so good for me that day. Are you going to be good for me now?”
Oh, oh fuck- “Yeah, luv,” he breathes- too quick, too eager now that he’s cottoned on to what Pav is up to. “Wanna be. What do you want me to do?”
“Shirt off.” And that, that’s an order, one he’s only too willing to obey, even if he gets an arm half-stuck in the process and his fumbling must sound like an earthquake through the phone. He tosses it aside as soon as it’s off and falls back into the pillows, reaching up to tweak the barbell through one of his nipples and gasping softly.
“That’s it, now the other one.”
“How’d you know what I did?” Hobie gasps, doing just that except harder this time, his dick twitching at the little twinge of pain.
“You make that same noise every time I touch them,” Pav murmurs, and Hobie’s heart does a stupid little flip at the idea of being known so intimately, so easily. He’d had a couple hookups before Pav- the kind that happen in the loo when everybody’s one too many pints in, nobody whose name he’d really remembered by the next morning. Nobody more than once, either- would’ve been too dangerous to fuck any of his actual friends in this universe, what with the whole double life and all, but he’d also never wanted to keep anybody before Pav. He’s just…he’s special. He’s everything.
“Gonna let me have a wank now, luv?” Hobie asks, voice edging dangerously close to a whine. He ghosts the pads of his fingers over his ribs, the dip of his stomach, imagining they’re Pavitr’s- but no lower. He said he’d be good.
Pav tsks through the phone. “I’m not indulging your bad British manners. Ask nicely.”
Hobie rolls his eyes, muttering, “Oughta know better’n to expect manners from me, come off it.” But all that earns him is silence, save for the clicking of the keyboard as he realizes Pav is somehow, impossibly, still fucking typing. Still working. But there’s something oddly arousing in the realization that he’s competing for Pav’s attention, and he can’t do anything about that arousal unless Pav lets him, so he pulls back the attitude, manages to sound almost coy. “Right, treacle, ‘m sorry. Please, can I touch myself?”
“Yeah-” and maybe Hobie is imagining the hitch in his voice, because the typing hasn’t stopped, but at least Pav’s attention is firmly back on him now. “Yeah, do it.”
Hobie doesn’t have to be told twice- he yanks his skirt roughly up to his waist, silently thanking himself that morning for picking that rather than tight jeans, shivering as his fully hard cock is exposed suddenly to the chilly air. He spits into his hand, loud enough that he knows Pav will hear it, and lets out a deep, relieved groan as he finally wraps his fingers loosely around himself.
“That’s it, good boy,” Pav murmurs indulgently, and Hobie clenches his eyes shut, thumbing at the silver ring pierced through the head of his dick with a sharp gasp. “Tell me what you want.”
Wanna crawl into your skin and fucking live there so we’ll never have to spend a week apart again, he doesn't say, because that's weird, even though it’s all he’s been able to think of for days. “Wanna eat that gorgeous pussy again” he says instead, because that’s the other thing he can’t fucking stop thinking about.
“I know you do. And you’re so good at it, aren’t you?” His tone is a mix of condescension and praise that floods heat through Hobie’s body like a shot of strong liquor. “Do you know that? Do you know how sweet your mouth is, how good you make me feel?”
“That’s right, luv, just wanna make you feel good,” Hobie gasps, hand pumping easily up and down his cock now with the mix of spit and precum. He opens his eyes just enough to glance at the photo again, to let himself be overcome with the memory of Pav’s thighs clamped around his ears, the warmth of him, the heady scent. “ Fuck, can practically taste you now. Wanna keep my tongue in you for hours, want you to sit on my face ‘til I can't bloody breathe.”
“Mm, I dunno, mere pyaare. I do like you alive.”
“Nah, ‘s fine,” Hobie answers with a breathless little laugh. “‘S how I always wanted to go. Gonna put it in my will.”
“You don’t even have a will,” Pav chuckles in return, which- true, but to be fair, what has Hobie got to will to anyone? Just himself, and that already belongs to Pav, every last bit of it. “So why aren’t you doing that now?”
“Why ain’t I-?” Hobie chokes out, rubbing the flat of his palm over the leaking head of his cock, hips jerking involuntarily. “‘Cause you told me not to distract you!”
“What if I wanted to be distracted?” comes the reply, soft but calculated, and oh Hobie is so utterly fucked. “What if I was hoping for you to turn up at my window, drag me away from my work, and make me forget every bit of it?” On some level he knows this is just an idle fantasy, that Pav really has been working all week and would not have appreciated an interruption like that. But bloody hell, he’s not going to last long if Pav keeps painting such vivid pictures of the exact things he’s been dreaming about doing for the last week. What else is there to do but play along?
“Could just get on my knees in front of your chair, under the table. Be your lil’ cockwarmer. Wouldya like that?” There’s a sharp intake of breath through the phone- Pav’s still testing out words for himself, trying them on and discarding them if they don’t fit, but he loves for Hobie to talk about his cock . And yeah, Hobie’s quickly falling apart himself- pumping faster, breathing harder, moaning a little louder than he normally would just to be sure he’s heard- but it’s gratifying to know that Pav is not unaffected. “See how long you manage to stay focused then, eh?”
Pav swears in Hindi, and Hobie hears the thunk of his phone being set down on the table a little too hard. “Yes. Yes, I want that.” No, he’s far from unaffected. “Slow down, we’re not done yet.”
Hobie lets out a low, pitiful whine, dropping the photos to grab a handful of the sheets, but does as he’s told.
“So impatient, jaanu,” Pav chides, and the condescension is back- the tone that Pav uses for people he knows aren’t as smart as he is and are jackasses about it, the one Hobie would hate if it was ever turned on him for real. But this isn’t real, and he finds himself unable to do anything but keep listening, pleasure building hot and overwhelming in the pit of his stomach. “Maybe instead I should bend you over my desk and fuck you. Work out all my stress and frustration on you.”
Fuck, he hadn’t even thought about that. It doesn’t happen like that very often- they don’t always have the strap with them, and it’s just more involved than the other way around, but sometimes it scratches an itch for the both of them that nothing else can. There are no pictures of that to look at right now- not really something Hobie tends to think about when he’s the one getting railed- but maybe he’ll have Pav take one next time, so he can see how he looks when he belongs to Pav completely.
Yeah. That sounds good.
“Anythin’, luv,” Hobie moans desperately, pinching one of his nipples again, head thrown back. “Whatever you want.” The easiest mental image to conjure like this is Pav riding him, rocking in his lap, head tipped back in bliss. He plants his feet on the mattress, fucking sharply up into his fist as if it’s Pav’s pussy, and he’s not really being good like he promised anymore but at this point every muscle is drawn tight and his brain is full of static and he needs to cum before he loses his mind.
There’s a strangled noise from the other end of the call, and for the first time, Hobie realizes that the clacking of the keyboard has stopped. He doesn’t even know when it happened, can’t even begin to think about it right now.
“Pavi please-” he’s begging shamelessly and he doesn’t care- “Ain’t I been good long enough, c’mon, can I-?”
“ No,” Pav cuts him off suddenly, and there’s a beeping noise from his end that might be familiar if Hobie had the capacity to think at all. “Don’t, don’t cum, hang on-”
Hobie has no idea what he’s on about, and god he’s so close, but he makes himself obey just a few moments longer, wrapping his hand tight around the base of his cock and clenching his eyes shut with a whimper. He clutches the pillow in his other hand, body taut and trembling, and for a moment nothing happens- until suddenly there’s a flash of light bright enough to be seen through closed lids, and he feels the bed dip beside him with another person’s weight. He doesn’t open his eyes until a leg is slung over his hips, trapping both his cock and his hand beneath it, and familiar fingers wrap around his other wrist, pinning it to the bed with strength to match his own.
And then there he is, and god, Hobie was so stupid to think a picture could ever compare to the real thing. Pavitr looks wild- skin flushed dark even down his neck, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, shirt already half unbuttoned. He’s breathing quick and hard, like his perfect self-control is seconds from snapping, and he’s wet - Hobie can feel it against his stomach where Pav is straddling him, can smell it.
“You’re impossible,” he breathes, grinding his hips just enough to make Hobie hiss. There's a cute little annoyed furrow between his brows, but it doesn't matter, because he's here and he’s leaning down for a kiss and Hobie's won .
Hobie kisses him like a man starved, yanking his hands free to grab fistfuls of his clothing, his ass, anything he can reach. Pav moans into his mouth, so close Hobie can feel the vibration of it, so sweet after just his intangible voice on the phone. He rolls them over, feeling Pav’s legs come up to wrap around his waist, marveling at how perfectly they always seem to fit together. Every nerve in his body is still sparking with arousal, but he’s not moments from bursting anymore, not with Pav here. It’ll be worth it to wait.
He’s content to lose himself in the feel of Pav’s lips and the heat of his skin, until he feels Pav kick him sharply in the shin and whips around to see what the problem is, and-
“Shoes, chutiya!” Pav growls, full of long-held exasperation, and Hobie finally loses it, laughing himself almost to tears. It’s oddly cathartic, eases the tension a little just like they always manage to. Hobie loves him so much.
“Told you to bugger off ‘bout that, it’s my bed!” But he relents even as he complains, finally kicking them off before getting to work on the rest of Pav’s shirt buttons. “How long you got?”
Pav frowns for a moment, thinking even as Hobie leans down to suck at the taut muscle of his neck. “Fifteen minutes.” Hobie bites suddenly, playfully, and he gasps, squirming. “Okay, okay, twenty!”
Hobie wants more, craves more- but sometimes there isn’t more, that’s just what life is now. It’s enough for him. “I’ll take ‘em,” he says with a soft smile, pushing Pav’s shirt open and sitting back on his heels to take in the view. The air between them is finally silent for a moment, Hobie speaking with his hands rather than his lips, ghosting fingers over fine dark hair and scars and the swell of muscles before dragging lower. It’s so good, the way Pav opens his legs wider without even having to be asked, the way Hobie rubs the heel of his hand over the patch of damp fabric between them, drinking in Pav’s whimpers and the way he grinds needily back against him.
It’s not until he’s popping the button of Pav’s pants that a thought occurs to him, and he pauses.
“God, luv,” he says, flicking at the zipper. “Were you really still workin’ through all of that?”
The look Pav fixes him with is flat, almost comically unamused. “Are you kidding me? Do you know how much totally random gibberish I have to delete next time I open that paper?”
He manages to look serious for approximately two more seconds, and then suddenly they’re both laughing harder than ever, Pav’s smile sunshine-bright, until Hobie bends to kiss him again.
They should take a new photo tonight, he thinks, before Pav has to leave again. Surely he can spare a few extra minutes for that.
After all- this will be one to remember.