"Right, of course. Not at all." Beckett rolled his eyes with a small smirk, reaching for Simon's hand and pressing another soft kiss to the back of it.
“I’m not,” he protested. “How am I cute? Demand for proof.”
"Nonono, you're right. You're… you're a, uh, a real tough nut to crack. You're so… mysterious. And dangerous."
Simon made a noise of impatience. “Yet again. You are a horrible liar.” He squinted at Beckett. “You really do think I’m cute, don’t you?”
Beckett shrugged, swinging his feet like a child might if they were bored. “I mean, yeah, kinda.” Truthfully, he hadn’t found Simon cute until he’d admitted his feelings and gotten all nervous and fidgety. That part was absolutely adorable.
“Ack. Whatever.” He waved a dismissive hand. “I will find a way to remove that term from your descriptive vocabulary.”
"What-what's that supposed to mean?" Beckett frowned, looking mildly concerned.
"I'm not going to let you call me cute anymore," he said. "I refuse to stand by and watch my bad-boy reputation crumble to the ground at the hands of a purple-haired librarian."
Beckett laughed. "You're cute," he retaliated, sticking out his tongue mischievously.
Simon growled. "I AM NOT CUTE," he said loudly, poking Beckett's chest with every word. "I AM NOT ADORABLE. I AM ANGRY AND RUDE ALL THE TIME."
"Pfft-" Beckett had honestly expected that he was digging himself into a deeper hole than this. This was pretty amusing. "Right, you're not cute. You only get all blushy and nervous when I get close to you, and can't think of any better way to prove your claim than by poking me. What's cute about that?" The question was phrased as if it were a statement, showing that Beckett wasn't really asking.
Simon thought for a moment, then said, "You asked for it." He reached forward, grabbed Beckett's collar and dragged him to the living room, throwing him on the couch. He jumped on top of him and shook Beckett's shoulders violently. "I AM NOT CUTE!"
If it weren't for the yelling and shaking, Beckett probably would've gotten a bit hot under the collar. Or at least a bit intimidated. He just chuckled. "Si, calm down. It's not a bad thing, y'know."
Simon sat back on Beckett's legs, glaring at him. "I'm not moving until you revoke your claims," he said imperiously, looking down at him, eyes narrowed.
"Oh no. You're not going to get off my lap. How will I cope." Beckett raised an eyebrow with a smile. "You're really not good at this whole 'punishment' thing," he hummed, tugging Simon closer.
Simon pulled away, crossing his arms. "You don't get to kiss me, nerd-boy," he said. "Absolutely not. You will have to sit there and suffer."
"Alright, fine." Though Beckett pouted a bit, he didn't really mind. It was still nice. Instead, he leaned his head on Simon's shoulder and lightly closed his eyes, content to stay here as long as Simon was determined to. "You didn't need to threaten me in order to cuddle," he teased gently.
"Nope," Simon said, placing a hand on Beckett's chest and pushing him away. "You get nothing until you say that I am not cute and mean it."
Beckett leaned back against the couch cushions. "…So you're going to force me to sit on the couch. With an attractive, brooding man on top of me. As punishment."
Simon bared his teeth. "I could tear our your intestines instead," he said, looking up at the ceiling. "Or your brain. Or your heart. Or your bones, one by one. Or your teeth. I mean, pick your poison. No skin off my back."
"In some alternate universe where you actually would, all I'd have to do is walk out the front door." Beckett smiled innocently, completely undeterred.
Simon tilted his head to the side, smiling slightly. “Fine. You win this round. Happy now?”
"Mm, very." Beckett pulled Simon in by his sweatshirt strings and gave him a gentle kiss on his cheek. "You're cute."
“Uh-uh. I said that round. Not the whole game,” Simon said. ”You still don’t get to kiss me.”
"Well I already did. So take that." Beckett grinned up at him, still keeping a loose grip on his sweatshirt.
“And you won’t do it again,” Simon said, looking at Beckett. “Is there a reason you’re still holding my hoodie?”
He shrugged. "I dunno. It's soft." He devolved into thought for a moment, realizing he had a few more questions. "How do ghost clothes work? Like are those normal clothes, or the clothes you died in, or clothes that you have to go find somehow, or what? Can you change your clothes? Do you even need to?"
“These are the clothes I died in. And I don’t know if I can change. I mean, I’ve never had a reason to,” Simon said. Then he frowned and said, “You aren’t going to seduce me to take them off.”
Beckett's eyes widened and his face flushed, which seemed to happen very often. "I- that's not what I was- I wasn't going to!" He insisted in embarrassment.
“I don’t believe that. You at least want my shirt off, I can guarantee that,” Simon said matter-of-factly.
