by Roan Parrish
“You want that? You want me inside you?”
Simon nodded. He wanted it so much. He didn’t think he could possibly get hard again but it didn’t matter. He wanted to feel Jack, wanted to make Jack feel good, wanted to look into Jack’s face as Jack lost it inside him.
“I don’t think... I don’t think I can last very long,” Jack said sheepishly. “Next time, I promise, I’ll make it so good for you,” Jack babbled earnestly. Simon rolled his eyes and shut him up with a kiss.
Jack pulled a condom out of his side table and slid it down his erection. He slicked his fingers again.
“Kneel up.” He tapped Simon’s hip. He slid lube-wet fingers back inside Simon and even though he’d just come it made Simon shudder.
“Stop me if it’s too much. Okay?”
Simon nodded. Jack held Simon’s hip and parted him, resting the tip of his cock at Simon’s hole.
“I wanna be inside you so bad,” Jack murmured. “I felt you clench up so fucking tight around my fingers when you came.” He pressed his hips up, just the slightest bit of pressure. “I can’t wait to feel that on my dick.” A little more pressure. “You’re so fucking gorgeous when you come. Mouth and your fucking eyes and—”
Simon felt the moment when Jack slid inside him, but by the time his brain processed it, he was seated on Jack’s erection, body straining to reshape itself.
“Oh! Oh!” he heard himself gasp. Jack’s eyes were squeezed shut tight like he was using every bit of resolve to keep himself from pounding up into Simon.
“Breathe, darlin’.”
Simon breathed. Jack ran a soothing hand up and down his spine. Then he crunched up and pressed a kiss to Simon’s trembling lips.
“It’s a lot this way. Should’ve done it different your first time.” Jack stroked his face. “Sorry. Stupid leg.”
Simon shook his head, breathing through his nose. He leaned forward to kiss Jack and with the change in angle a beautiful heat washed through him. He gasped and moved his hips. Jack bit his lip.
Simon lifted his hips experimentally and pressed back down and Jack’s eyes rolled back in his head. Yeah, that was good. He did it again. Jack grabbed his hips, strong arms helping him move.
“Oh my fucking god,” Jack said. “Yes, baby, fuck yourself on my dick, you’re so goddamn gorgeous.”
Simon felt amazing.
As his body adjusted, the sensation of being too full shifted. He felt perfect. He felt complete.
Jack was clearly trying not to be too rough but Simon wanted to see him come. He wanted to be the one to make this gorgeous man come. He rose and fell on Jack’s cock, watching his face. Jack’s mouth was open, his eyes unfocused.
“Simon, I’m gonna come,” Jack groaned. Simon felt Jack’s orgasm as it tightened every muscle. His cock swelled inside Simon and for just a moment, Jack lost control. He punched his hips up as he came and all Simon could think was that he couldn’t wait until they could do it again.
Jack’s groan tore through him and when Jack’s muscular body went slack in the aftermath, and Jack pulled Simon down to his chest and clung to him, Simon felt like a god.
“Fuuuuuck,” Jack groaned a few minutes later. “That was amazing. You’re amazing. You okay?” He lifted Simon’s face to look at him.
Simon smiled and nodded. They were sticky and they smelled of sweat and lust and come. Simon’s cock and balls ached from stimulation and as Jack slid out of him he winced. Still, as Jack swiped at their mess with the sheet, then gathered Simon close, Simon couldn’t stop smiling.
He pressed his face to the crook of Jack’s neck and breathed.
“I’m amazing,” he whispered, and he felt Jack nod in agreement.
Chapter Ten
Jack
Jack woke from a doze at the sound of a dull thud against the closed bedroom door. He had a moment of disorientation where he didn’t know why the door was closed. Then the warm form beside him stirred a little and he remembered everything.
Simon. His beautiful Simon riding his mouth and fingers and cock like he was born for it, jerking and trembling as he came with his head thrown back and his mouth open. The broken sounds he made that stirred Jack’s blood, and the feel of that virgin ass clenching around him in pleasure.
Jack clapped one hand over his mouth and the other over his cock so he didn’t wake Simon by groaning or humping him. Jesus.
In the thin light of the autumn moon, Jack could just make out the man curled up beside him. Simon slept as deeply as a child, covers curled around his shoulders, knees drawn up, face nearly buried in the pillow.
Jack chanced a kiss to his shoulder and Simon murmured in his sleep.
He slid from the bed with as little disturbance as he could manage and felt for his underwear and his crutches.
When he eased open the bedroom door, Puddles’ head slid to the floor from where it had been resting on the door and he looked up at Jack, aggrieved. Louis was curled up on top of Puddles, uncaring about the venue.
“Sorry, buddy.”
Given how much Simon loved the dogs, he probably wouldn’t mind Puddles curling up at the foot of the bed, but everything was so new, and Simon caught him off guard with his reactions sometimes.
Jack hoped there would be a time when he would know Simon’s reactions as well as his own. When he could read the other man just by a raise of his eyebrow or a curl of his lip. If he could just avoid scaring Simon off...
Jack went to the bathroom, checked the fire, and scratched the ears he could reach as he went along. Bernard’s huge head lifted off his paws and he yawned, then settled back down, Rat using his paw as a pillow. A cat’s eyes glittered at him in the darkness just before the white fluff ball that was Mayonnaise leapt, grabbing ahold of his crutch with her paws and curling her body around it to scrabble at it with her back legs.
“I think you killed it, bud,” he told her, and extricated his crutch from her furry clutches.
The animals were used to him not sleeping at night, but usually he turned the light on, or the television, so—other than Mayonnaise’s sneak attack—they were following his lead in being quiet.
Somehow, Jack found himself in his studio, in front of his drawing table, where he and Simon had stood the week before. Out the window, the tops of the trees swayed in the breeze and Jack imagined the coming winter. He loved the snow. Loved the clean smell of the cold air and the sound of a fire crackling merrily. He loved drawing as the sun rose and he watched the frozen world come to life. He loved drawing as the sun set and the world outside became the dark velvet distance his cozy cabin glowed against, a submarine moving silently through black waters.
Had loved.
He had loved drawing.
A wave of despair closed over him.
What if it never comes back?
He swore softly, fingers digging into the wood of the table.
There was a sound behind him and he waited for a furry body to press against his leg. When one didn’t come, he turned to find Simon in the doorway. He’d pulled on Jack’s discarded sweatshirt but his long legs were bare.
“Shit, sorry, did I wake you?”
Simon shook his head. Jack couldn’t see his face in the dark, just his silhouette, but his shoulders were rigid, like they were when he was feeling anxious.
“C’mere,” Jack said, transferring both crutches to one arm and holding out a hand.
Simon moved toward him like a ghost, moonlight catching the bridge of his nose and his messy hair.
His hand was shaking slightly, but when Jack pulled him in for a kiss, he twined his arms around Jack’s neck. Lifting his arms bared his ass, and Jack’s hand went to it like it was magnetized.
“I woke up and you were gone,” Simon said softly against Jack’s mouth, pressing his bottom into Jack’s hand.
“Sorry, darlin�
��.”
He couldn’t believe he’d missed what it looked like to see Simon wake up and realize he was in Jack’s bed.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
“Guess not. But you should go back to sleep if you can.”
Simon’s eyes were sleepy, his head drooping to Jack’s chest. A deep sense of peace settled there along with it.
They stayed that way for a minute, maybe two. Then Simon said, “Do you have a sketchbook?”
Jack plucked it from the window ledge. Dust plumed into the air. Simon took it from him and grabbed a few pens from the cup on the table. He turned and looked over his shoulder, then gestured with his chin for Jack to follow.
When they got to the bedroom, the door was open. Puddles was lying directly in the middle of the bed on his side, all four legs straight out in front of him, and Louis was curled up between his legs. Simon smiled.
“Puddles,” Jack commanded, and Puddles yawned, then rearranged himself at the foot of the bed. Louis blinked one eye sleepily, rolled over, and very slowly made his way to curl up on top of Puddles.
Simon climbed into bed and Jack joined him, though he knew he couldn’t sleep. Simon handed him the sketchbook and the pens. Then he stripped off Jack’s sweatshirt and slid beneath the covers.
“Draw me like one of your French girls, Jack,” he said dramatically, batting his eyelashes.
Jack’s cock twitched, but Simon dissolved into giggles, burying his face in the pillow.
Jack reached under the covers, found Simon’s bare ass, and gave it a squeeze and then an affectionate slap.
“I’ll draw you like one of my...” Jack muttered, but Simon turned to him and gave him an evaluating look.
“What are you scared of?” he asked gently.
“I’m not—” Jack began automatically, but Simon’s expression was so open.
This was a man who knew what it was to be scared.
“It used to feel like breathing. Pick up a pen and draw. Now I... It makes me think of everything that’s happened. With Davis.”
He shook his head. In the weeks after it had sunk in—that Davis hadn’t just done something selfish, he had done something that proved he couldn’t possibly care about Jack, because no one would do such a thing to someone they cared about.
It had made him question everything. And questioning was the opposite of how it used to feel to draw.
“What if I can’t do it anymore?”
Simon slid closer and rested his chin on Jack’s shoulder.
“You can,” he said softly. “But I know what you mean.”
Jack waited for him to go on. This, too, he was learning. That even when Simon’s words came easy—as they were more and more often with him—sometimes he had to work up to what he wanted to say.
“It’s a mental block. Nothing to do with your ability. But a mental block’s still real.”
He kissed Jack’s cheek. He was so damn sweet.
“Like right now, I can talk to you fine. But when I leave...the next time I see you, I’ll still think about it the whole way here. What if I can’t? What if right now is magic and I can never repeat it.”
Jack wanted to tell him that right now was magic, but he bit his lip. Instead, he stroked Simon’s hair.
“So what do you do? When you worry about that?”
Simon pressed closer and Jack could feel his sigh.
“First I try logic. I go through all the times I’ve done it before, like evidence I can do it again. It usually d-doesn’t work because there’s also evidence to the contrary.”
He twined his fingers through Jack’s.
“Then I think about what the w-worst thing is that could happen. Like, I probably won’t puke the way I used to in s-school,” he said with a shudder. “And I won’t d-die. I’ll feel shitty, and embarrassed, and I’ll want to run.” He squeezed Jack’s hand. “But. Even if it’s bad, I know I can handle it.”
Jack turned and tipped Simon’s face to his for a kiss. He wanted to tell Simon how sorry he was that things couldn’t be easier for him. How much he admired his bravery, his utter fucking guts. But it felt insulting or patronizing, so Jack just stroked his hair and kissed him harder.
“So,” Simon said, with a final kiss to Jack’s lips. “What’s your worst-case scenario?”
Jack closed his eyes, imagining years stretching out before him where he had no escape. No vocation, no projects, no other world than the real one.
“Being just...this. Just a guy who doesn’t have...passion?” Jack said.
He couldn’t meet Simon’s eyes.
“That’s pretty bad,” Simon said.
“I don’t think I could handle it,” he said, realizing that he didn’t have Simon’s confidence that no matter how bad things got he could handle them. There’s more than one way to be strong, Jack, Simon had told him in the woods. No fucking kidding.
After a moment, Simon pulled at his shoulder to get an arm behind him and hugged him tight.
“Then don’t let it happen,” Simon said, and though his voice was gentle, Jack could hear the steel behind it. “Don’t let that asshole take this away from you, Jack.”
“Simon.”
But Jack didn’t have anything more to say. Not really. He let Simon hold him for a minute, enjoyed the feeling of his arms around him.
Please don’t let him leave me too. He’s so lovely—please don’t let him turn out to be something else.
The thought swooped into his mind like an eagle and without thinking he pulled Simon on top of him and held him close.
Simon came willingly, rested his forehead against Jack’s like he could tell it was what he needed. But after a minute, he pulled back, traced Jack’s mouth with his finger, and said, “Draw me something.”
Jack swallowed emotion down. He hadn’t put pen to paper in eight months but Simon wanted it and so Jack would try.
“What do you want me to draw?”
Simon rolled off Jack’s lap and plopped the sketchbook there, then tucked himself to Jack’s side.
“Draw Puddles baking cookies.”
Jack snorted. Then he remembered he’d drawn a book about a Bison who’d taken the subway and he shut up.
He picked up one of the pens Simon had brought. It wasn’t what he usually sketched with, just a regular ballpoint, but it didn’t matter because this was just for fun, just for Simon.
It’s not real, so there’s no pressure.
He closed his eyes and the scene fell into his head. Puddles on his hind legs, measuring ingredients at the counter; Puddles turning the mixer on too high and being engulfed in a cloud of flour that settled on him, turning his fur from yellow to white.
Jack chuckled at that and Puddles lolled onto his back in his sleep, paws twitching as if he knew.
Jack began to draw.
* * *
Days later he was still drawing.
He wasn’t drawing animals or landscapes like he usually did. He was drawing Simon. They were blushingly private drawings in a sketchbook he shoved under the couch cushions any time he got up.
It had begun with his face, in an attempt to capture the way that sleeping Simon looked like another person. Something in the lack of tension around his eyes, in the softness of his mouth...sleeping Simon was unburdened. The only other time Jack had seen him look that way was when they were fucking.
Simon, head thrown back, eyes hot with lust, mouth open on a scream.
Every time he remembered it he got hard. In fact, he was beginning to feel a little strange about how hot Simon got him. He’d never thought the virgin thing would do it for him. In the past, he’d gone for uninhibited guys who were just looking for a quick good time. Guys who made eyes at him in a bar or looked him up and down at the gas station. Guys who knew what they wanted and were ready for him to give it to them.
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br /> But Simon’s surprised, wide-eyed sensuality got to him more than the most enthusiastic, knowing encounters he’d ever had.
Which was how Jack found himself transitioning from sketching Simon’s beautiful sleeping face to drawing Simon facedown on his bed, legs akimbo, round ass raised and begging, hole glistening. The desire to be spread open and fucked hard eloquent in every tensed muscle and in his hand twisted in the sheets.
He didn’t even mean to draw it. It’d been the middle of the night, he’d woken as usual, and, as if the previous eight months had just been a horrible dream, stoked the fire, flopped onto the couch, and lost himself in the lines of his pencil.
When he got up to use the bathroom hours later and focused on the page before him, it seemed almost to have been drawn by a stranger. His style, yes, his shading and his line work. But Jack didn’t draw people—and he’d certainly never drawn people like...that.
That had been three days ago and to show for his recovered artistic impulse he had a sketchbook of fantasies that rivaled the Kama Sutra, a body that seemed to be on sex overdrive, and a renewed sense of hope that maybe his career and his artistic passion hadn’t been snuffed out after all.
It was this last that he was thinking about when Simon arrived for the morning walk and Jack shoved the sketchbook under the couch cushion.
The shy smile that Simon gave him made Jack melt. He pushed to his feet, fumbled for his crutches, and let himself be carried toward Simon on the tide of the pack who instantly circled him, excited to go out.
“Hi,” Simon said, then ducked his chin like he felt self-conscious about what he’d said, or how he’d said it. Jack couldn’t always tell which it was.
“Hi,” he said, in case it was the former.
Jack had found that if he kissed Simon first when he showed up in the mornings, Simon’s shyness lingered, but if he put himself in a place where Simon kissed him, it dissipated faster. So he stepped close, enjoying the way Simon naturally tipped his face up.
He brushed his knuckles along Simon’s cheek and looked at his mouth. Simon’s lips parted and he slowly moved to press a soft kiss to Jack’s mouth. Jack cupped the back of his neck and Simon kissed him again, deeper this time.