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"You're not the only one."
The words had been repeating in Simon's head since Harry had drunkenly muttered them that night.
"Back home, he's there."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm unhappy, Simon." His voice was barely above a whisper, but Simon listened ever so closely to ensure he heard every word. "Can't do it anymore. Too much."
He fell asleep shortly after, left hand on Simon's bicep and mouth slightly parted, his soft snores occupying the white noise in the room and the chirp of the crickets outside. He was peaceful in his sleep. So unlike Simon's all-too-aware awaken state.
Now that Harry had fallen asleep, Simon had the time to ponder on the thoughts that were now occupying his mind. Had he really been so stupid to get involved with an already coupled person?
He lay ever so still for as long as he could remember, conscious of his movements as to not wake the sleeping body next to him.
Why did he still care?
It took him an unusual amount of time to drift off into sleep, but once he was out, he was out cold.
He awoke in the morning with an uneasy feeling in his chest, and an all too soon migraine. He rubbed his head and sat up, his stinging eyes meeting Harry's.
"Morning," the corners of his mouth turned upwards into a smile, "didn't think you'd sleep this long."
"What time is it?"
Harry reached over to the bedside table and checked his watch. "9:27."
"You were up early then," he yawned as if on cue, "sobered up?"
"Hm. I had a comfortable pillow to sleep on." He nodded his head towards Simon's chest, which unfortunately didn't explain the uneasiness he felt in it. "I was about to go downstairs, if you'd like to join-" He went to get up, but Simon grabbed his wrist, holding him back, and interrupted him.
"Harry."
"What is it?"
He had no time to plan what he wanted to say. He needed to get it out in the air, though. He needed to not beat around the bush, he needed to let the other man know that he couldn't stand to participate in a cheating relationship.
"Last night, you said you were unhappy." Harry's eyes widened, and he appeared panicked. "Someone is back home, and you're unhappy. It's too much."
For a second, Harry stammered. It was clear that he was struggling with deciding on what to say. "Last night? I was drunk, and, well, you know? You know how drunk people are. I'm sure I meant nothing by it." He laughed uneasily, awkwardly, but Simon wanted the truth. His face turned stern, and his voice took a serious tone.
"Harry. Tell me the truth."
His breathing paused. He visually tensed up. "I'm so sorry." He averted his eyes from Simon's and lowered his head, hanging it in shame. "His name is Alan. My partner, if that's even the appropriate title. We've been together for a while. I-" his voice broke, and a sob came from his throat. Tears that had been threatening to flow trickled down his cheeks and onto his chin. "I don't love him anymore. I haven't loved him for a long time. We don't get along. He's too much."
Simon just stared. Suddenly the ticking of the clock became unbearably loud, and he was hyperaware of the pulse in his ears. His head felt as though it was going to explode. How was he supposed to process this? He had slept with an already coupled man.
"Please say something." Harry sounded almost desperate. He was seeking something, but Simon couldn't provide that. Comfort. He couldn't wrap his arms around him and tell him that everything was going to be okay. This was wrong. Harry knew it was wrong, yet he involved Simon in such activities.
"I need time to think."
Harry went home not long after, and Simon had a late start to his day. He was snappy all throughout, clumsy at times - just frustrated and confused.
He needed time to think.
Yet, only a few days later, he found himself back in that same bed, with the same person.
Simon could give many excuses as to how and why he had ended back in this situation, but really - he was pathetic. He was rapidly approaching his thirtieth birthday and still couldn't control his desire. The desire that was so hot, it was threatening to wrap around him and burn him from the inside - out.
He was greedy, and he was needing. He felt something akin to guilt, but nowhere near as intense. He was selfish. He had only a fleeting thought of Harry's poor lover who was probably at their home waiting for him - but he just brushed it away. He could only think of himself and what he wanted. And he did want. He wanted Harry so badly, and Harry was right there, sitting ever so prettily in front of him. He was glancing up at Simon through his long eyelashes, and his plump lips looked like they were almost begging to be tugged on.
He was right there, so Simon took.
Without uttering a word, he leaned forward and roughly caressed Harry's chin, forcing it up slightly to get a better look at him. The younger man nodded slightly in approval, and that was all that Simon needed.
Their lips connected, and Simon shut his eyes. He allowed himself to indulge in the feeling of another pair of lips on his.
Unlike their other times, it wasn't so gentle. Things didn't go so slow, and there were no soft touches. Harry's lips didn't touch his cheeks, and his didn't touch the top of Harry's head. He broke apart their kiss only for a few seconds to remove both of their shirts, instantly ducking back down to Harry's mouth after. He pushed his tongue past the pair of lips and explored around the inside of the younger's mouth. The texture of the roof of his throat, the back of his teeth, then he met Harry's tongue and wrapped them around one another.
After a few minutes of kissing and biting at one another's mouths, Simon pulled back again, a long string of saliva connecting both of their lower lips until he jerked his head back slightly, it falling somewhere between them and onto Harry's chest. He reached over to his drawer and pulled out a condom and a small tub of lube. He rested them on the bed so that he could pull down and off his joggers, followed by Harry's shorts and boxers - flinging them somewhere on the floor.
He picked the tub back up and flicked the lid off, then lathered his fingers in lube and, only for a few seconds, looked back to Harry's eyes to make sure he was okay. He entered one finger, and with the sudden friction, Harry reached out to hold Simon. Simon wasn't too sure what took over him in the moment, but with his free hand, he grabbed onto both of Harry's wrists and pinned them behind his head. Without saying any words, he instructed the other male to keep them in place.
Harry obliged, of course. He had always been good for him, so sweet and obliging in the bedroom.
Once Harry felt stretched enough, Simon removed his fingers and picked up the sliver packet, ripping it open swiftly, but carefully, making sure not to damage the protection. He rubbed a light cover of lube over his cock, before rolling the condom over it and lathering lube over the condom.
When he had his consent, it felt nearly as though some sort of entity took over Simon. He truly had lost control. Before, he had gone easy, but tonight, he was nothing but that. He thrust roughly into Harry, taking what he craved, what he needed. Any moral thoughts had dispersed from his brain, and all that covered it was a cloud of wanting pleasure.
The harsh slap of skin and loud moans of the two men filled up the otherwise near silent room, and Simon held Harry's hands back behind his head, against the headboard. Not a word was uttured, and their eyes never made contact for longer than a few seconds. Something in the air had shifted.
Without making eye contact, when Harry came closer and closer to his climax, Simon turned his head to watch him. To study his face. The way his eyebrows furrowed, the way the tears that had weld up in his eyes clung to his eyelashes, and the way he bit onto his lips as he tried, but failed, to contain the moans that slipped past them.
"So fucking gorgeous." Were the only words that Simon uttered that night. He hoarsely whispered them as he neared his climax, Harry following with his after hearing Simon's voice. He let himself go, tears flowing down his cheeks, he wailed a soft cry, and he painted his abdomen white. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, and clawed his nails against the wrists that were holding him back.
With such a sight in front of him, Simon chased his high with a few more eager thrusts. He let himself watch Harry pant as he became overstimulated, and that just fuelled Simon's climax more. He moaned out into the air, and exploded into the condom. Sighing heavily, his body collapsed slightly on top of Harry, hovering only mere inches away from his chest.
He lay there for a minute or so, the only movement coming from the rhythmic rise and fall of their chests.
All of a sudden, a dwelling awareness of their situation took over his thoughts.
He removed himself from Harry, and ditched the full condom into the bin next to his bed, then stood up, pulled his boxers on, and went to the bathroom to grab a wet towel.
Harry moved his hands down to his chest and steadied his breath a little. In the moment, it seemed like a great idea, but now, he wasn't so sure.
Simon came back and cleaned them both up, changed into a cleaner pair of joggers, and gave Harry one of his old shirts and an old pair of boxers to put on.
They both lay in the bed, facing away each other.
The sex was great. It always was, but now they were both left with their thoughts.
Harry was so confused. Had he really been so desperate that he jumped at the first opportunity to get back into bed with Simon? Had Simon just fucked him out of pity? Or had he fucked him just to blow off some steam? Knew that he had an easy, warm body waiting for him, someone who would be ready to lay in bed whenever he needed him? Simon wasn't that type of person, but Harry knew that he, himself, was a shitty person. So, would Simon really take his feelings into consideration?
A moment of weakness, maybe? Or, perhaps, an act of spite?
Simon was no better.
He was a grown man, for crying out loud. He should be better than this. He should know that actions have consequences, and he should know that this was such a shitty thing to do. Being so desperate to fuck a man who had a partner at home, who had he become?
At this point, they were both in the wrong.
How had he allowed the desire to take over him, allowed himself to be so rough?
He took what he wanted with no regard of how Harry must've been feeling. No regard for what Harry's partner will feel when he finds out. With no regard of what this would mean for the both of them.
Want was an awful thing.