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“Christ Simon,” Kieren huffs, staring wide eyed up at Simon, who hangs his too big jumper over the back of a chair without looking at him “how’s that fair?” He sounds a little whiny, but Jesus Simon is fit.
Simon can’t help but think how much Kieren looks like a startled baby deer, eyes wide in his bare face. Simon wisely keeps that to himself and wonders what the fuck Kieren is even on about.
He looks down at himself with a vague frown and is greeted by a hairy chest and pallid skin. He’s not much, he’d kept enough muscle on him despite his drug abuse that he’s not scrawny, but other than that he doesn’t see what’s so shocking to Kieren. Still. This is their third time having sex and Keir’s still acting like he’s just unveiled Michelangelo’s David.
“How’s what fair?” Simon asks, head tipped slightly to the side and lips pursed. There’s a little shock in Kieren’s face and he resists the sudden, fierce urge to snatch up his jumper and cover himself. Again, for the third time. He’s being ridiculous, he knows, he is as he’s always been, and he shouldn’t be this worried about his boyfriend seeing him a little naked.
But he really is, despite that perfectly sane part of him telling him to calm down.
His back is only just starting to heal where the stitches are holding the skin together, now that they’re coming alive, and his mind is working itself into knots the longer Kieren’s eyes linger on his bare skin.
His track marks are one thing, but his back is something else altogether. He thinks it might have something to do with the fact that he was in control of the first, more or less, and the second was something that happened to him.
Kieren had been perfectly lovely the first time he’d seen. Perfectly lovely the second time, too. And the third and Simon had been just as understanding about the healing slits on his wrists.
Kieren doesn’t mean to stare, knows he’s being really fuckin’ rude, but he can’t get his mouth to make words. His eyes know just what they’re doing though, sliding down the length of Simon’s body, a little shy, but mostly eager.
Surprising heat throbs in Kieren’s belly, lazy and interested, and he’s stunned by the strong reaction. It’s the strongest he’s felt arousal since he’d crawled out of the ground and it’s shocking in a delightful, scary kind of way.
Simon’s a shade or two paler than he is and the shadows of his veins almost look bruised where they lie close beneath his skin. Kieren can trace the veins on Simon’s forearms all the way up to his shoulder, interrupted only by the occasional cluster of needle marks. He lingers on the crook of Simon’s arm longer than is typically polite and Simon turns both his arms out without being asked.
The skin looks paper-thin, just at the crease of his elbow, and beneath that are a collection of track marks that stand out, not quite livid, on Simon’s skin. The scars that Kieren has seen, the ones on his wrist, are almost familiar and Kieren wants to feather his fingers lightly down the inside of Simon’s forearm.
Wants to commit every scar, every inch of Simon to memory. He hadn’t really been able to the first couple of times, but he’s determined to commit every little detail to memory.
“You’re bloody gorgeous.” Kieren grumbles, finally finding his voice while his hands worry the hem of his shirt. He flops back onto the bed, tugging his shirt down in the process. He tries not think too much about how hot Simon is and how scraggly he must be in comparison.
Simon swears his heart might have just started to beat faster, then it skips and his stomach is alive with too-sharp flutters. It’s been so long since he’s felt anything with such crystal clarity and it’s as exhilarating as it is terrifying.
He’s smiling, he realizes, just a little. “Really?”
It’s the uncertain quirk of his mouth that lights up Simon’s face and tugs at Kieren’s sluggish heart. Kieren wants to draw him, in that moment. He wants to remember the gentle, uncertain curve of Simon’s usually pouty lips and the almost brittle look of hope in his eyes.
Kieren lifts his head up, no doubt giving himself a second chin, and is devastated by Simon’s defined, fantastic chest once again.
Okay, maybe he’s over doing it, but Simon really is stunning.
“Really.” He groans, dropping his head back “You’re all muscly and fantastic and I look like a noodle.” Kieren throws an arm over his eyes.
“You’re the best looking noodle I’ve ever seen.” Simon offers seriously and Kieren can hear the smirk in his voice. It makes his lips twitch and he peeps at Simon from under his arm.
“I think that’s probably the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” Kieren huffs, only half joking.
“I’ll have to fix that.” Simon murmurs while kicking out of his shoes and nudging them to the side. Under Kieren’s watchful eyes, he brings a hand to the button of his worn jeans and flicks it open. Undoes his belt with a quiet tinkle of metal.
“I’ll spend the rest of my life whispering sweet nothings in your ear Kieren Walker, if you’ll let me.” Simon promises voice low as he undoes his zip. Kieren’s breath hitches, actually hitches at that line, and the warmth he’d felt before doesn’t even begin to compare to what he’s feeling now.
Kieren swallows hard and tries not to think too much about the sharp jolt he feels at the quiet hint of warning he hears in Simon’s voice.
“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Kieren doesn’t imagine love is something Simon can do casually; he reckons it’s all in or nothing. Which works out great, ‘cause Kieren wants it all.
Simon pulls his belt from the loops and puts it with his sweater “Absolutely.”
Kieren’s smile is lopsided when he sits up and pulls Simon close by the open flaps of his god-awful khakis. He situates Simon between his spread knees and kisses just above his belly-button, lips pressing lightly against the smooth, soft skin. Simon shudders and cards his fingers through Kieren’s hair while looking down at the top of his head with something akin to wonder.
Kieren feathers paint-brush calloused hands up Simon’s sides and drags his nails down Simon’s sides. He watches, eyes big, as goose-bumps break out over Simon’s skin. The sound Simon makes when he does it again is a cross between a moan and a sigh and it does wicked things to Kieren’s insides.
“You’re a marvel Kieren Walker.” He says in a reverent tone and Kieren replies “And you’re not Mr. Monroe?”
Simon drops a kiss to his forehead. “Depends who you’re asking.” He murmurs back and Kieren can feel his smile against his forehead.
“I asked and I think you’re bloody fantastic.” Kieren tilts his head back and gives Simon a narrow look, like he’s daring him to argue, and then presses a messy kiss to his chin. Simon’s laugh is warm and rusty and it curls hot down Kieren’s spine, which is a miracle in its own because it’s been so long since Kieren’s felt anything hot.
Kieren flops back onto the bed, face burning, jeans tight. Simon pulls away, reluctantly, to tug off his socks and toss them away, eyes on Kieren’s languid form.
Kieren doubts he’s ever going to see those socks again. Simon’s one of the messiest fucks he’s ever been around, which is saying something because technically he’s a teenage boy and therefore should hold the title of messiest fuck.
Simon’s got him beat though. He leaves books everywhere, piles of beat-up trainers by the door and doesn’t put the lid back on anything.
While Kieren’s pondering Simon’s lack of neatness and trying not to wriggle too much, Simon’s kicking out of his baggy pants and openly admiring the tent in Kieren’s skinny jeans. It’s an almost ecstatic feeling, knowing he’s the cause and it makes him feel alive in a way the drugs only ever skirted.
He tries to think of a time when he’s been this happy, maybe that first few days in America? but he doesn’t think he’s ever been happier than right now, with Kieren sprawled out in front of him.
He already misses Kieren’s hands on him, misses the steady pressure and his curious fingers. It doesn’t take him long to come to the conclusion that he should definitely be touching Kieren right now, instead of standing awkwardly in his boxers. Kieren’s staring pensively at the water-stains, thinking about only God knows what and Simon moves before he really gives himself a chance to think about.
He climbs into Kieren’s lap, knees digging into the mattress on either side of his slender hips, and settles his weight on Kieren’s lap.
Simon takes a second to worry over the shock on Kieren’s face before he leans in to murmur “This alright?” shyly in his ear.
Kieren’s hands snap to Simon’s sides and steady him, fingers splayed over pale skin. He’s hyper aware of where they’re touching, like Simon’s skin is electric. He doesn’t ever want to stop touching him, he thinks while wondering if Simon realizes how bad he is at all this. Simon’s skin is nearly warm, not the ice it had been a week or so ago and Kieren keeps his hands there even after Simon’s settled in his lap.
The ghost of breath over the shell of his ear makes Kieren shudder and his hips jerk. Simon’s weight bears down on him, pinning him to the bed, and it takes a lot for Kieren not grind against Simon’s arse.
“Better than alright, great actually.” Kieren may or may not be grinning like a moron. Depends on who you ask really, because Simon thinks he looks breathtaking.
Kieren reminds Simon of the first tentative rays of sunlight that peek through the barren branches on a crisp winter’s morning, the way they dance over your skin and offer a hopeful relief from the cold.
“You sure? ‘Cause I can get off if you’re not alright-” Simon says in a grave kind of voice that contrasts with the amusement in his pale eyes and Kieren chews the inside of his cheek indecisively.
Then he rolls his hips up against Simon’s arse, lets him feel how very okay he is with their current position and lets out a breathy sound that’s really embarrassing.
“Really rather you didn’t.” He murmurs, voice raspy like it usually only is in the morning, watching the way Simon’s pupils dilate. The contrast of black against white is captivating and Kieren brushes a finger under the hollow of Simon’s eye.
A moan slips through Simon’s teeth, quiet and intense, and it shocks the both of them. Kieren grins slyly up at him and cradles his face almost delicately.
Simon’s cheek is lukewarm against his palm and when Kieren leans up to press his lips lightly to Simon’s, they’re only a shade warmer. Simon goes still, dangerously still, and leans his entire body into Kieren’s hand. Kieren’s lips move over Simon’s, the press of them light enough that Simon has to resist the urge to surge forward and crush their mouths together.
The tentative brush of Kieren’s lips over his borders the line between ‘feels so damn good he doesn’t ever want it to stop’ and ‘christ that tickles’. He tries to remember a time when anyone’s ever kissed him this tenderly. He can’t, and that’s just as well because if Kieren’s the only one who ever kisses him like this he can die happy. It’d be a first.
It builds slow, Simon taking whatever Kieren’s willing to give. Simon’s almost dizzy with euphoria when Kier hesitantly bumps his tongue against Simon’s bottom lip. He sucks in a hard breath through his nose and parts his lips.
Another tentative flick and Simon has his cheek pressed into Kieren’s palm like he’s afraid to break the contact. Kieren’s tongue is just shy of warm when he rubs it over the curve of Simon’s bottom lip. Simon groans into the kiss, cock throbbing in his boxers, and he has to brace his hands on either side of Kieren’s head to steady himself.
Kieren gets a devious glint in his eye that curls wicked hot in Simon’s belly and then he cants his hips up. Simon’s teeth snap together and Kieren smiles up at him. It’s an uncertain, curious thing that shouldn’t be as arousing as it is.
Simon can feel how hard Kieren is through his jeans where his hips are pressed flush to Simon’s groin and Kieren is acutely aware of the hard line of Simon’s cock against his thigh. Kieren slips his tongue past Simon lips while he’s still reeling and slides it over Simon’s.
It feels odd, in a good way, not enough saliva for their tongues to slide easily but enough that Kieren thoroughly enjoys the way Simon’s tongue curls around his own. He takes his time getting to know Simon’s mouth. The shape of his teeth, what the inside of his cheek tastes like, the underside of his tongue.
He explores it all, so incredibly curious that Simon feels awed that anyone could be that interested in any part of him, much less all of him.
When they come apart, Kieren’s chest is heaving and his lips, usually a frostbitten blue, are the faintest of pinks. Simon leans in, giving Kieren plenty of time to tell him no, and snags Kieren’s bottom lip between his teeth.
He rolls it and scrapes carefully his teeth over the sensitive skin, his own breaths coming in hard puffs and then gives into the urge to dip his tongue into the seam of Kieren’s mouth. He rolls Kieren’s lips one last time before releasing it and brushing his thumb over the line of Kieren’s mouth.
Kieren’s lip is definitely pink now and Simon gives Kier a crooked half-smile that does dangerous things to his stomach. Kieren leans up and mouths at Simon’s neck. His breath raises goose-bumps on Simon’s skin and when Kieren scrapes his teeth over his pulse point Simon’s pretty sure he just came dangerously to coming all over himself.
When Kieren lets up, Simon is practically jelly. He brushes his thumb over Simon’s cheek bone one last time before he grabs the hem of his sweatshirt and starts to pull it up.
Simon doesn’t say anything when Kieren starts to wriggle out of his shirt, just puts all of his weight on his knees and watches with his eyes on the bit of rumpled sheet by Kieren’s head.
It’s a bit difficult, seeing as he’s being pleasantly crushed by Simon, but he manages to get it up and over his head without unseating the man on his lap. The sleeves get stuck though and when he can’t flail his way out of them Simon helps him ease the cuffs over his wrists without laughing at him.
He balls it up and tosses it somewhere. He’ll find it later when there isn’t a not-quite dead, absolutely gorgeous man sitting on him. The edges of the thick cuts on his wrists are starting to creep closed, very slowly, and they itch. Kieren idly wonders if he’ll be able to get the stitches out eventually, being very careful to make sure he doesn’t tear any of them.
Simon watches Kieren fuss with his stitches and waits until he looks up at him from long, long lashes to lean in and press a chaste, light kiss to each of the old agonies. Kieren runs a hand through his dark hair and cradles the back of his head.
The smile he gives Simon in that moment is worn and so honest that Simon swears he can feel its edges. Simon treasures it like the gift it is, that very real moment in which they acknowledge each other’s pain without lessening them.
He knows when Kieren’s hand slips from his neck that the moment has passed and he lets it slip away. Kieren drops his arms to the side and looks up at Simon expectantly. Simon swallows hard and drags his fingers curiously along Kieren’s inner arm. The skin there is as soft as it looks and Kieren makes an appreciative sound as Simon teases his fingers up over the curve of his shoulder.
Kieren’s front is mostly bare, save for a sparse trail of hair that starts at his belly button and ends somewhere under his jeans. There are a few scars, the stories of which he has every intention of learning, and the cutest little nipples he’s ever seen. He doesn’t know if Kieren likes having his nipples touched, so he skips them in favor of tracing the planes of Kieren’s stomach.
Slowly, carefully, he trails a fingertip lightly down the line of red-gold hair. Kieren’s skin is soft, dry and he traces a prominent vein all the way to where the band of Kieren’s jeans cuts him off.
And then he just looks, hand still on Kieren’s skin. He watches the rise and fall of Kieren’s ribcage like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. Kieren’s almost embarrassed by how much he likes having Simon’s eyes on him. Simon takes pity on him eventually, shifting a little onto his thighs and cupping him tentatively through his jeans.
Kieren’s hips jerk up off the bed when Simon touches him, not even that much, and he moans. One of his hands snaps to Simon’s shoulder and the other fists in the bedsheets. It’s a quiet sound that slips through his teeth and almost ends in a growl. Simon’s cheeks flush and he tucks that sound away for always.
“Really now?” Simon asks, voice raspy, rubbing just a little and watching the flutter of Kieren’s chest and the way his full lips fall open into a perfect ‘o’ as he grinds up into Simon’s hand.
Kieren makes that almost feral sound again and Simon grinds the heel of his palm against the base of Kieren’s cock.
“Really.” Kieren gasps sarcastically, arching his hips up and letting his eyes slam shut at the slow-moving wave of pleasure that starts low in his hips and meanders its way to his belly. His pulse is a steady, almost mocking thump in his ears and he wonders if Simon’s heart is pounding, well for people with their affliction, like his is.
“Wish I could keep you like this forever.” Simon sighs, and it’s almost dreamily he regrets to admit, but Kieren is a beautiful mess and he’s incredibly hard. It’s a steady, throbbing ache and he wishes he could draw this out, push Kieren to the very edge again and again, but Kieren looks like he’s close.
“You’re not gonna get to keep me for now if I don’t get to come soon.” Kieren groans, head thrown back and Simon chuckles breathlessly. He grinds his hips down against Kieren’s, and gently kisses his adam’s apple.
“Impatient much?” Simon breathes against the skin of Kieren’s throat, eyes barely open as he basks in the knowledge that he was able to do this for Kieren.
“I’ve been waiting all day to get my hands on you, so yeah.” Kieren murmurs back, his throat working under Simon’s mouth. He can feel Simon smile against his throat and briefly considers the merits of shoving a hand down his pants because this man is going to kill him. Death by sexual frustration for sure.
“Hate to keep you waiting any longer.” Simon looks down at him, eyelids at half mast, and moves so one of his legs is in between Kieren’s thigh, snugged right up against him.
Kieren gasps and Simon grinds his thigh up against him. Kieren is so hard where he’s rocking down onto Simon’s thigh, heat sparking between to two of them as they rub and grind, and Simon swears he could come just from this.
And then Kieren’s nimble fingers are slipping under the band of his boxers and his hips are jerking in erratic twitches and Kier’s fingers are so tight around him as he comes that he can’t breathe.
Kieren’s hand is moving over him, stroking him through the rolling waves of pleasure and he’s rocking down onto Simon’s thigh, shocked gasps spilling up from his throat.
It’s a struggle to keep his eyes open, with Kieren’s fingers sliding rough start-stop over him, but he manages, watching the way Kieren’s lips tremble and committing to memory the way his long lashes flutter against his cheeks.
He manages to get a hand between them and grips Kieren, stroking him as best he can through the denim. Kieren goes stiff, neck arched and his nails dig into Simon’s shoulder. The little bite only adds to the overwhelming heat and Simon mouths at Kieren’s collarbones.
It’s a long time before either of them goes still and by the time they do they’re both panting, shaking messes. Simon’s cheek is smushed against Kieren’s chest and Kier’s got a hand in his hair that feels so good it should be illegal.
“Amazing.” Simon whispers reverently.
“You weren’t too bad yourself.” Kieren murmurs back, grinning sleepily. Kieren manages to stay awake long enough for Simon to start tracing circles over the bare skin of his chest.