by Roan Parrish
“B-b-bec-cause. It was my f-f-f-first k-k-k-k—”
Simon made an exasperated face at himself and Jack felt like his heart stopped.
“Your first kiss?”
Simon nodded miserably.
Jack felt like his dick went from zero to oh god in the space of that one movement. He wasn’t sure why that did it for him and he didn’t, quite frankly, care to interrogate it. He just knew that the idea that he’d been sweet Simon Burke’s first kiss set him on fire.
“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, and dropped his head to Simon’s shoulder. “That’s just—I, wow.”
Simon stiffened and Jack lifted his head to find Simon looking uncertain.
“No, sorry, I—Fuck, that’s so... I’m honored.”
He cupped Simon’s face and watched the relief relax his jaw and brow.
“Can I be your second kiss too?” Jack said, brushing Simon’s mouth with his thumb. “Please.”
Simon blinked.
“I promise I won’t burp,” Jack said very seriously, and was rewarded with a tiny smile.
Simon nodded and Jack felt like he’d been given a great gift.
“Thank you,” he breathed, and he kissed Simon. Gently at first—slowly. Then he slanted his mouth over Simon’s and deepened the kiss. The taste of Simon was delicious and the tentative way he touched his tongue to Jack’s made him wild.
When Simon started to breathe heavily, Jack eased off, weaning himself of that gorgeous mouth with gentle kisses to his lips, cheekbones, temple.
They stood together, breathing hard, and Simon reached out a tentative hand to touch Jack’s mouth.
Eyes burning and lips swollen, Simon said, “Wow.”
Chapter Seven
Simon
Simon replayed the kiss in his mind a hundred times. Hell, make it a thousand. That night, after the storm had blown through and he’d made his way home, he lay in bed, shut his eyes tight, and went over every detail he could remember. It turned out he could remember enough to make his heart race, his dick go hard, and his breath come short just thinking about it.
He slid a hand down his belly and into his underwear and brought himself off in just five glorious strokes, shuddering and biting his lip. He couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, 6.8 miles northwest, Jack might be doing the same.
He fell blissfully asleep, but woke up with a dragon of anxiety curled in his stomach. What would it be like when he saw Jack this morning? What if Jack thought the whole thing was a mistake and everything they’d been building was ruined? Simon had talked to him! What if Jack pretended it had never happened? Simon couldn’t bear to see him twice a day and pretend. Or what if Jack assumed they’d fuck now? That was normal for people who had sex, right?
By the time he got to Jack’s he was nauseated and shaking apart. Jack opened the door with a warm smile, but it slid off his face the second he saw Simon’s expression.
“What’s wrong?”
He held a hand out and Simon followed him in.
“I didn’t know if—What are—We don’t—”
Too much, too many possibilities all intersecting, contradicting, overloaded. Choking.
“Hey, hey, c’mere,” Jack said, leaning his crutches against the wall and opening his arms.
Simon stood face-to-face with something he’d wanted since the moment Jack first opened the front door. The chance to be held close to that big, warm body, in its soft, worn sweatshirt. Something he’d wanted far longer than just since then, if he were honest.
Someone who regretted kissing him and wanted to pretend it never happened wouldn’t open his arms, right?
He stepped forward, heart racing, and let Jack’s arms enfold him.
Jack squeezed him tight, then stroked his back.
“What’s up, darlin’?” he asked softly after a few minutes. It was only when Simon pulled back that he found the pack sitting in a circle around them, watching them.
It felt right, somehow.
He tried to put his thoughts in order but they started to get tangled up again, and the tangle stuck in his throat.
“You wanna text?” Jack offered when he cleared his throat for the fifth time.
Gratitude for the unexpected kindness of this man flooded him and nearly leaked from his eyes.
He nodded and pulled out his phone.
Sorry. I got so nervous and I didn’t know if it would be weird today bc of the whole kissing thing and then I freaked out like what if you regretted it or maybe I’m a terrible kisser or what if you thought that kissing meant I would just have sex right away and I don’t think I’m ready and then I thought you might be mad at me.
He couldn’t quite make himself send the message, held his phone until Jack gently took it from his hand. After a minute, Jack cupped his cheek.
“It’s not weird for me. I definitely do not regret the whole kissing thing.” He winked. “You’re, fuuuck, the opposite of a terrible kisser. I thought maybe I scared you away with how much I, uh, liked it.”
Simon flushed, thinking about touching himself to memories of their kiss, and shook his head.
“Well, that’s good. I’d never assume that kissing me meant you wanted to have sex with me, even if you’d kissed a million people before, and anyone who’d be mad at you for not being ready is a piece of shit. And I’ll knock their block off.”
It was a ridiculous thing to say and from Jack it sounded like the most natural thing in the world.
“Okay,” Simon said. He dropped his forehead forward to rest against Jack’s shoulder. “Good.”
“Good,” Jack echoed.
Bernard howled, echoing it in his own way too.
* * *
The next week was perhaps the strangest in Simon’s life.
He wasn’t used to waking up excited about where he was going or who he was seeing. He wasn’t used to getting out of his car and not feeling a sick sense of dread creep through him. He wasn’t used to falling asleep with memories from the day that he wanted to ruminate on. And he absolutely, certainly, one hundred percent was not used to being gathered to a man’s chest, his lips and cheeks and brows kissed; to the taste of someone else’s lips tingling on his own as he walked the dogs, made coffee, did his work.
It was visionary, transcendent, addictive.
It gave him the unfamiliar sense of having a place in the world. Of being tethered, rather than floating, ghostlike, through a land that belonged to others.
He didn’t suppose that a week of kissing was supposed to be able to change the world, but his world was sweetly, irrevocably altered.
Of course his grandmother had noticed. Simon worried she might tease him, but that was a worry from another time.
“What’s Jack’s favorite cookie?” she’d asked, taking out the flour.
Simon didn’t know.
“Well, ask him, silly!”
Simon had stared at his phone. It had never occurred to him that he could contact Jack when they weren’t together.
Hi. It’s Simon. What’s your favorite cookie?
Hmm, Simon who? came the reply. But it was followed immediately with a winky face and Simon realized that although it was the first time he’d texted Jack from afar, of course he’d texted him a hundred times while they were in the same room.
He tried to stop smiling, embarrassed that Grandma Jean could read his absurd happiness on his face.
He sent back: Wow, you just gave me a panic attack. But he also sent a wink of his own.
Jack wrote, I know you’re a tough cookie. Mmm speaking of cookies, I like oatmeal.
For a moment, Simon didn’t even notice the second part of the text. No one had ever called him tough before. Told him to toughen up? Yes. To tough it out? Definitely. The thing was that he knew he was tough. He’d never told anyone, but sometimes at the end of t
he day, when he closed the door on the world and pulled a blanket over his head, he thought: You are so fucking tough. You just did hard shit all day. You are so brave for doing that.
He felt a flush of pride and gratitude that Jack had seen that in him.
Then: OATMEAL??? That’s your FAVORITE cookie??? Whose favorite sweet confection is made of GRUEL?!!!
Daaaaamn, Simon, I love oatmeal in all forms!
WOW. Well, okay, I’ll tell my grandma, but she might not let me hang out with you anymore...
You tell your grandma that I’ll fight her for you.
You’d fight an old lady? Cold-blooded, Matheson.
I’m gonna tell your grandma you called her an old lady, Burke. Now make me some damn cookies.
And then, as if it were as simple as pressing a button, Jack sent a heart. A red, clear-as-day heart that sat there staring at Simon and making him wonder what would happen if he sent one back.
With a trembling finger, he sent the emoji back.
Voop as it sent, and Simon blinked.
Because he hadn’t sent a heart. He’d sent the green-faced vomiting emoji that was next to it.
He dropped his phone.
“Dick pic, dear?” Grandma Jean said sympathetically. “The bits not quite what you’d hoped for?”
“Grandma, no! God.”
He grabbed his phone and scrambled to type: OMG I meant to send the heart! My finger hit the wrong emoji and OMG.
Jack sent back a flurry of crying laughing emojis and then a kissy face. With relief shaking through him and great care in the emoji-choosing arena, Simon sent back one perfect heart.
“Phew,” he said, collapsing on a kitchen stool.
“Just a bad angle, then?” his grandmother drawled impishly.
“You’re a true menace,” he told her. “Oh, and oatmeal cookies.”
She pursed her lips pensively and cocked her head.
“Hmmm,” she said. “Interesting.”
“Is it?”
“Very interesting.”
* * *
They’d been kissing for what felt like hours. Simon’s spine was liquid and his thighs burned from kneeling over Jack on the couch. Every swipe of his tongue against Jack’s, every trail of Jack’s fingertips down his throat, sent a pulse straight to his cock.
He buried his face in the crook of Jack’s neck, the skin there hot and smelling deliciously of Jack. He pressed a kiss to the throbbing pulse in Jack’s throat and felt Jack’s breath hitch.
“Jack,” he whispered.
Jack stroked up his back. “Yeah.”
“I... I...”
Jack eased him back so they were looking at each other.
Simon was burning up. He wanted everything and didn’t know how to ask for any of it.
“Feeling shy, darlin’?” Jack drawled. His eyelids were heavy and there was a flush across his high cheekbones.
Simon shook his head.
“Not...with this.” He pressed his palm to Jack’s chest. “Just...” He gestured to his mouth.
“Easier to touch than to talk?”
Yes. So much easier.
He nodded, relieved Jack understood.
“No problem. I can do the talking,” Jack murmured. “Want me to tell you what you do to me? What I wanna do with you?”
Simon knew it was a choice but he just nodded. He wanted it all.
“Mmm, okay.” He put his hand over Simon’s where it rested on his chest. “You make my heart race. So fucking hot. And knowing that I’m the first one—the only one—to touch you. That you’ve kissed? It’s...” He groaned. “I don’t know. Fucking gets to me.”
He stroked fingertips up the side of Simon’s throat and Simon’s eyelids fluttered. The gentle touches made him squirm in the best way.
“It’s like you’re so sensitive because this is all new and it...” He sucked in a breath through his nose. “It really turns me on to watch you.”
Simon’s breath came faster. Jack’s fingers moved from his throat to his chest, and he brushed his thumbs over Simon’s nipples, watching for his reaction.
First nothing, then Jack pinched and bolts of sensation shot through him, arching his back.
“Damn,” Jack breathed. He did it again and again until Simon was writhing. “Wanna take this off?”
Simon stripped off his shirt. His face was on fire and the flush was spreading down his chest, his nipples standing out, rosy and pert. Jack pinched them again and now that Simon could see it he felt it even more.
His thighs were trembling so hard he could barely hold himself up. Slowly, he lowered himself to Jack’s lap.
Jack’s broken groan ripped through him and for a moment he worried he’d jarred Jack’s leg. But Jack cupped his shoulders, holding him there firmly, and when Simon’s mind cleared he felt the hardness he was sitting on. He moved experimentally, pressing this way and that, and watched Jack’s eyes roll back.
“Fuck, baby, stop for a second.” Jack sucked in a breath. “You’re—Shit, that’s so sweet. You wanna feel it too?”
Simon nodded, heart pounding in his ears.
“C’mere.”
Jack pulled himself more upright and settled Simon’s full weight back on his lap. Simon tipped his hips forward and Oh, fuck, there it was.
Jack rearranged himself and then they were moving together, hard cocks straining against one another in their pants. It was so very, very much, but with each minute that passed it became more frustrating.
Simon whined and Jack kissed him hard.
“Simon,” he said when they broke the kiss. “I wanna touch your dick. I wanna—fuck—I wanna feel you lose it. Wanna touch you till you come all over us.”
A bolt of pure lust ripped through Simon and set him shaking. He fumbled with his fly. He pulled at Jack’s sweatpants until Jack got the hint and eased them down his thighs along with Simon’s jeans.
“Jesus, you’re beautiful,” Jack muttered, tracing the head of Simon’s cock with his finger. Simon’s hips bucked violently at that first touch and he gasped, bracing himself on Jack’s shoulders.
“Oh, yeah, darlin’. I want to touch you fucking everywhere.” He stroked Simon’s cock slowly, gently, then a little bit harder, a little bit faster, making everything go liquid and hot.
“I want to touch every inch of you, inside and out. Wanna make you scream and beg and come until you can’t come anymore.”
“Ungh!” Simon babbled, feeling like his skin was too tight for the arousal roiling inside him. “Jack, p-please,” he managed. He held on with one hand and with the other, he reached down slowly and wrapped his hand around the first erection other than his own that he’d ever touched.
Jack was big and uncut and Simon could feel his pulse through his veins. At the first squeeze, Jack’s hips bucked up and Simon fell backward, which sent Jack into a flurry of cursing.
“S-sorry. I’m too big.”
“Goddamn my leg,” Jack hissed finally. “I want to do fucking everything to you and this damn thing.” Then, as if Simon’s words had finally caught up with him, he furrowed his brow. “You’re the perfect size. And if I hadn’t fucked myself all up—” He broke off and blew out an angry breath.
Then he pulled his good leg up, foot resting on the couch, and held Simon’s hips so Simon couldn’t fall backward.
“C’mere,” he said then, eyes hot. Simon let himself be arranged so that his cock pressed to Jack’s. His eyelashes fluttered at the sensation of that hot, velvet flesh against his own.
“So hot, darlin’. You just move however you want. I promise I’ll fuckin love it.”
Simon braced his hands on Jack’s shoulders again and ground his hips down, undulating to the rhythm his body demanded. His pulse got stronger and stronger until he felt it in his ears and temples, in his cock an
d balls, in his asshole and in his gut. He was hard and leaking and so was Jack. That press of hot, slick, swollen flesh was all Simon could think about.
Jack’s hips pulsed up too, tiny movements that spurred the heat between them even higher.
Heart pounding, cock pulsing, Simon kissed Jack desperately. Jack groaned when their mouths met, and his palms on Simon’s back were strong and hungry. Tongue in Simon’s mouth, Jack hauled him down so they were belly to belly, chest to chest.
“Oh, fuck,” Jack said into the kiss when Simon’s weight pressed their erections together again. He reached between their bellies and when his hand closed around their hard lengths, Simon nearly swallowed his tongue.
“Oh! Oh, oh,” he heard himself say. He slung his arms around Jack’s neck, suddenly afraid that the dark, pounding surf gathering deep within him would rip him away forever.
Jack’s strong arm held him tight and Jack’s other hand worked them, sloppy and straining and better than anything Simon had ever imagined.
He heard someone whimper and realized it was him but he couldn’t care because suddenly the world aligned with a shocking snap. Jack’s hand tightened just so and the drag of his palm against Simon’s skin had him soaring, grinding, clutching, writhing. Then the sky cracked open and pleasure tore through him, shattering him apart.
In wrenching spasms he came into Jack’s hand and over Jack’s cock and as if from a distance he heard Jack shout and felt Jack’s heat added to his own.
Simon shook and Jack kept stroking them lightly, which sent tingles and shivers skating along every nerve ending.
“Mmmmhh,” Simon groaned finally, and slumped against Jack’s chest, shaking.
Jack’s heart pounded beneath his cheek and Jack started petting his hair and his back, his hand finally coming to rest on Simon’s ass, and giving a little push, pressing them together again. Simon felt Jack’s cock twitch and a ghost of pleasure ran through his own.
They lay like that for a minute or two. Jack’s heart rate returned to normal, as did Simon’s breathing. Then Jack slid a hand into his hair.
“You okay?” he asked softly.