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“Shoot,” I hiss as my pipette tip fills with air bubbles for the third time today. "Jiminy Christmas, you aren’t making it easy for me.”
I sigh, resting my head against the eyepiece of the microscope. I’m checking a sample from each of the Taumoeba tanks, just like I’ve been doing every day since starting that experiment. Nothing is out of the ordinary. Rather, nothing should be out of the ordinary. Instead, for some reason, all of the lab skills that I’ve developed since undergrad have flown out the window, and my hand won't stop twitching.
“What’s wrong with me?!” I ask the Taumoeba. “Huh?”
Silence. I slouch further down, letting my glasses smush against my forehead.
“Nothing’s wrong. Nothing’s wrong! Let’s just try again, alright guys?” I plead with the sample. Maybe a bit crazy, I know, but I’ve never met a scientist without at least one lab superstition. Talking to your cells is probably one of the least crazy things out there.
“Grace,” Rocky hums from the other side of the room. He and I have taken up a routine of sorts; he’ll work on what he needs to work on, while I work on what I need to work on. Sometimes we chat, sometimes we don’t, but we always appreciate each other’s company.
I groan in response.
“Grace,” Rocky tries again. I swear I can hear the intonation of his voice sounding a bit more stern.
“Rocky,” I reply.
“You try to work when stupid. Not good idea.”
Smart aleck. “I can do this, Rocky. I’ve done it a million times. Not my fault if the sample’s being weird today.”
“Can do later. Take break first.”
“But I don’t wanna,” I whine. Jeez, I sound like a child. No wonder Rocky is the way he is.
“Yes. Do. Take break, then work, then sleep. Has been many hours since Grace last sleep.”
I sit up from my slouching position. Rocky may have a point. I hate leaving in the middle of doing lab work, but sometimes it can’t be avoided.
Slowly, I stand up and stretch. I peel the gloves off my sweaty hands, frowning at the smell of latex.
I decide I’ll head over to the “Don’t Go Crazy” Room. It’s been a while since I forced myself to just do nothing and relax. That might be what I need right now.
I chuckle to myself. “What would I do without you, Rocky?”
“Hmm. Don’t like that idea.”
***
The “Don’t Go Crazy” Room beckons me as I approach it. From dancing around in a drunken haze to going on “fishing” expeditions with Rocky, it’s been a constant for me throughout my time on the Hail Mary.
I flick through the options to display what I want on the screens. I choose one of my new favorites: a seaside boardwalk at sundown. The scenery brings back hazy remnants of my childhood. The sky shines with hues of pink, purple, and gold from the sun dipping below the horizon. Waves splash and seagulls call; the distant voices of people fill the air. I can almost smell the corn dogs and cotton candy.
The imagery sends a flash of adrenaline through me. I want to run barefoot through the waves, let the neon lights of boardwalk attractions strain my eyes, go around and around on one of the fair rides until I feel like puking.
I shake my head. I’m not supposed to be this keyed up right now. I need to calm down—it's not like I have anywhere to go.
I maneuver so I’m sitting on the ground, my back leaning against the wall. I rest my chin on my hands. I feel tense, ready to burst. I’ve been off all day. Things that should be simple to me now feel impossible. I’m stuck with an ache in my limbs, a desire to run and run and run until I’m dizzy and can’t remember where I am.
“Why?!” I mumble into my hands. “Stop thinking. Just stop.”
I jolt as I see movement out of the corner of my eye. I assume it’s Rocky, coming to check if I actually did what he told me.
It’s not.
Simon stands in the doorway at the other entrance to the “Don’t Go Crazy” Room. I don’t want to say he looms, but that's sort of the feeling I get upon seeing him.
“Ryland?” he asks quietly. After all this time, hearing my first name out loud still feels personal. I shiver.
I scramble to get up. My limbs feel awkward, and my skin is coated in sweat.
“I could have helped you,” Simon says. His head tilts quizzically.
“Yeah, well, I’m okay; I don’t need help,” I mutter, turning my face away from him. Despite the fact that want and need are two very different things, and right now part of me very much wants him here.
Simon blinks. He moves like he wants to walk over to me, then stops and goes back to where he was.
I sigh, slamming my forehead against the wall. What is wrong with me today? Nothing is happening the way I want it to. I need to get away. I don’t know where—just somewhere.
I start to turn around, to leave, but suddenly Simon is right there, behind me. He takes my hand and holds me in place.
“What’s the matter?” he questions. His voice is low, cautious. It’s sending all the wrong signals to my brain.
My mouth moves wordlessly. How can I explain this to him? Hey Simon, just feeling trapped in my own skin and like I can’t do anything right, so I’m daydreaming of getting high off adrenaline-fueled activities to escape my own brain!
“I’m supposed to be relaxing,” is what I say. Simon’s eyebrows furrow at my words.
“You don’t seem very relaxed.”
“Oh yeah? What do I seem like?”
He hesitates for a few seconds. Something dark flickers in his gaze.
“You seem wild,” he says quietly.
My heartbeat kicks up, pounding in my chest. “Is that a good thing?”
He shakes his head, not meeting my eyes. “I don’t know.”
I scoff. I’ve had enough of this. Maybe I just need to be alone. Turning away, I twist my hand from his grip, about to make my way out of this godforsaken room.
“Wait.” Simon grabs my wrist before I can escape. His hand closes around me—firm, unrelenting. I squirm in his grip, high off the thrill of being caught.
“What are you doing?” I snap. It’s false anger—I'm testing him. I really shouldn’t push him, but doing it sends such a thrill through my body; I can’t resist.
He steps closer, trapping me against the wall. Something has shifted now. Simon’s gaze pierces through me. A bead of sweat rolls down my face.
I can’t keep from running my mouth. “If you’re going to stay here, you should make yourself useful and kiss me.”
Simon’s mouth opens and then snaps shut. He shoves me against the wall, his hand splayed across my chest.
“What the hell?” he exclaims. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I said, kiss me." My voice comes out strong, and I shiver with excitement.
I watch as Simon’s eyes flicker with lust. He doesn’t have to listen to me—he's the one who’s got me pinned. But I know he will; it’s just a matter of time.
“Oh, goddamnit,” he growls, and then his lips are on mine.
I can’t help the way I moan and writhe against him at the feeling. The closeness of him, his strength and warmth—it's exhilarating.
I wrap my arms around him and tug on his hair. Our lips move, rough and forceful against each other, tasting skin and sweat. I feel him bite down on me, dragging my bottom lip with his teeth.
My heart pounds in my chest as I return the favor. I scrape the side of his mouth with my teeth, kissing and biting along his jaw. I want him to feel how worked up I am, how badly I need him to pull me out of my head and into my body.
I feel him gasp as I attack a particularly sensitive spot on his neck. His fingers bunch in my shirt, and I jolt as he once more throws me against the wall.
“Yes,” I moan, aching for his touch. “Harder.”
It’s fucked up. I should hate being manhandled and tossed around. It feels like there are some wires that got crossed in my brain that should absolutely not be touching. But with Simon here, all my inhibitions are gone. I can only think of him holding me, giving me exactly what I need.
The world spins around me as I feel Simon grab me and flip me around. Now, my stomach presses against the wall, and Simon—all of my gorgeous Simon—presses against me.
As he keeps me pinned in place, I revel in the feeling of our bodies moving against each other. The weight of him on top of me makes my heart beat like I’m on fire. I squirm, but he just holds me in place.
“Gonna keep you here forever, Ry,” I feel more than hear him whisper into my ear. I can’t help the shiver that runs through me at the nickname.
My head spins, and I rock my hips back against him. He shoves himself against my body, rough and sloppy. We rock back and forth, a weak facsimile of what we could be doing.
“You’re so—hng—you’re so eager, Simon,” I breathe. I can hardly think clearly with how much he’s touching me. One minute, he’s grabbing my chest, leaning in to kiss my neck, and the next minute he’s on my hips, pulling me impossibly closer to him.
“It’s your fault,” Simon snarls. “You’re always teasing me. Turning me on.”
In his frustration, he loses his rhythm—instead tightening his grip on me, forcefully thrusting against me so that I can feel him, hard and throbbing, against my ass. I feel my legs start to turn to jelly.
Before I completely lose control, I grind myself back against him. He groans in response, grabs my hips. He pulls me slightly upwards, giving himself more leverage to rub against me. Even through our clothing, I can feel the length of him clearly.
I reach behind me and pull his hips closer. Chasing our pleasure this way feels so animalistic. Too desperate to even take our clothes off, we're wild and careless.
“Wanna do it with you, like this, right here,” Simon mumbles. His eyes are closed, and he’s pressed himself firmly against my back, letting his hips move mindlessly against me.
“Hmm?” I taunt him. “Speak up, Simon. Whatever exactly do you mean?”
He grips my waist with sudden strength.
“I’m sorry, what I meant to say was, ‘I want to fuck you, Dr. Grace, right up against this wall,” he spits out.
My head spins from his words. “Naughty,” I chastise, my voice barely higher than a whisper. “Such a dirty mouth. What am I going to do with you?”
Simon moans into my neck. I can feel him throbbing against me. “Use me. Fuck, please, I’ll do anything.”
It’s so hard to think when he’s right there behind me, touching and kissing and teasing.
“Maybe you should use that dirty mouth on me,” I suggest, letting my head fall back onto his shoulder.
I feel him grasp at me again, desperately pulling at my clothes. He kisses me, hot and wet, on the side of my neck.
He continues kissing and licking up and down the sensitive skin there, raising goosebumps and giving me shivers. I feel him ghosting over my chest with his fingers, reaching down to the hem of my shirt, and creeping underneath.
“God, you’re so perfect, Ry,” Simon murmurs, in between pressing kisses to my neck.
“Yeah?” I ask. My voice sounds strange, higher and further away than it should be. I’m not used to being praised or wanted. Selfishly, I want to hear more.
“Like an angel. I can’t think about anything but this—but you.”
I feel the heat of his touch over my stomach, grazing my abs. I’ve lost a bit of weight during my time on the Hail Mary, but my muscles have remained pretty toned. My heart flutters, thrilled that Simon finds my body arousing.
Simon’s fingers feel like they’re carving lines into my skin where they graze my torso. I manage to respond, despite my dizziness.
“Prove it,” I say, circling my fingers around his wrist where he’s still feeling me up.
Simon hums against me in approval, continuing his ministrations on my skin. I can feel him marking up my neck and shoulders, teeth digging into my skin when he feels particularly daring.
He’s slowly making his way further and further up my chest. I have plenty of time to mentally prepare, but I still gasp when he squeezes at my pec.
“Always dreaming about your body like this,” Simon says quietly.
I flush. Sure, there’s a decent amount of muscle there for him to grab, but he definitely has me beat in that department.
My body squirms against him. It’s debasing in the best way, Simon groping my tits as if we’re an overexcited couple on prom night.
I gasp as his fingers swipe across my nipple. I almost want to start begging, pleading with him for just a little bit more.
"Like that?” Simon asks. I groan and arch against him as he drags his fingertips over my nipple again, slow and torturous.
“Keep going,” I half-beg, half-encourage him. I can’t control my voice now, moaning as he pinches the little nub in between his fingers and rolls it around. His fingers are ruthless, teasing my nipples again and again, stopping all of my thoughts in their tracks.
“That’s so good, Simon,” I say, the praise rolling off my tongue easily. My whole body feels electric. Each of Simon’s touches sets off fireworks inside me.
“Yeah? It’s good?" Simon whispers into my ear. He ruts against me, reminding me of how eager for this he is, how bad he wants me.
“Oh God, Simon, yes,” I sigh. I let my eyes close, feeling myself sink into the pleasure. “It’s so hot, I can’t think.”
I feel his nails dig into the skin of my chest.
“All for you,” he murmurs.
Then, suddenly he wanders down from my chest and grips my waist. I feel myself flipped around once more, face-to-face with Simon.
He steps closer to me. His eyes are dark, flickering over my body with absolutely less-than-pure intentions.
A hand curls around my face, then slides down my neck to my chest, fisting in my shirt. I think I know where this is going.
“Oh, let me get that for you, sweetheart,” I tease him. I curl my hands around the hem of my shirt.
His face colors, scowling after hearing my words. Still, obediently, he pulls away. I slowly lift my shirt up, watching him follow my every movement.
When I reveal my chest, Simon visibly swallows.
“This what you wanted?” I ask him. He nods, apparently having lost the ability to speak.
I guide him back to my chest and nudge his face towards me.
“Where’s that confidence from earlier, huh?” I continue teasing him. In response, he bites the flesh of one of my pecs, squeezes the other.
“Yeah, that’s it,” I gasp, riding the shockwaves of pleasure mixed with pain. He runs his mouth along the muscles of my chest. Greedy, I think. Hungry.
My hands make their way to the back of his head and curl in his hair. Feeling a bit of urgency now, I guide him closer to my nipple.
“Yes,” I groan as his mouth latches on. The warmth and wetness and suction combine to create a whirlwind of sensation that floods my brain.
“So good, Simon,” I find myself praising him mindlessly as he continues to suck. "You're so, so good for me."
He presses his face against my chest again, breathes out a shuddery sigh.
“You can’t hide from me,” I faux-chastise him. “Stop thinking and just do whatever it is you want to.”
I didn’t know it was possible for Simon to flush further, but he does. He won’t even look up at me. Instead, he says against my skin:
“Ry, put your arms up.”
I blink. Is he thinking what I’m thinking? Or is that too much, even for him?
I finish pulling off my shirt. I toss it to the side, then I assume the position. Despite everything we’ve already done, I feel more exposed than ever, with my hands raised above my head.
Simon’s eyes rake up and down my body. He strokes my chest again as he places a soft kiss against my lips.
Before I can really process it, he’s moved again. I feel a ghost of breath against my inner arm, and then Simon’s nose is pressed into the crook of my armpit.
I gasp, resisting the urge to squirm away. My face flames. I sort of guessed this was what he wanted to do, but the feeling of it is so much more intense than what I was expecting.
I hear him make a soft noise against my skin. Suddenly, I’m self-conscious. I think about the swaths of hair there, neglected from my grooming habits. I think about how I haven’t really gotten a good chance to wash there in a day. Or two. And how much I’ve been sweating—long, nerve-wracking hours in the lab.
“Simon,” I manage to say. Instantly, he pulls away from me.
“You’re okay,” I blurt out. “It’s not you. I just…you know, I kind of…haven’t washed up in a little while? And I’ve been sweating a lot…”
He fixes me with a look. I appear to have missed the entire point.
“Stop,” he grits out. “Just don’t. You smell so fucking good, and I finally have you right here, so please just let me do this.”
I can’t help but squirm as his nose tickles me once again. Simon is totally in his own little world. His eyes are squeezed shut, and he inhales deeply against my skin. I can’t imagine that I smell amazing, but maybe it’s different for other people. Possibly a pheromone thing? I make a mental note to look into this later.
“So fucking hot,” he groans. His fingers scrape against my chest as he presses his face deeper into my armpit. “Knew you’d be delicious here.”
With what looks like some effort, he finally pulls himself away. He grabs my other arm, the one he’s not currently attacking, and drags it up. More forcefully than last time, he buries himself into my pit.
I didn’t think I would like the feeling as much as I do. It’s primal and intoxicating, the fact that Simon can get off on the way I smell. Plus, he looks so cute drinking in the scent of me, eyes squeezed shut, face flushed, breathing in as deeply as he can.
“You look good like this,” I tell Simon, grinning with heady pleasure.
“Fuck,” says Simon, emphatically. I feel him trembling against me, his breath shaking. Each touch lights up a million tiny nerves on my skin.
His lips part hesitantly, his tongue snaking out to press against me. I groan as he tastes me in this sensitive place, drinking in my salt and sweat.
“Mmh, Simon,” I say, dragging out his name. “You’re driving me crazy. I need you, like, right now.”
Simon licks a stripe down my entire armpit, making me gasp.
“You already have me,” he mumbles into my skin.
I fist my hand in his hair. “You know what I mean. I want you and your dirty mouth to make your way down to my cock. Okay, sweetheart?” I add the pet name sarcastically.
Simon shudders, flushing and turning away. His fingers dig into my skin.
“Aww,” I smirk. “What’s the matter?”
“Not your sweetheart,” he grits out. His eyes are squeezed shut, and his hand trembles against me.
“You’re not?!” I raise a hand to my heart in faux shock. “But you’re so sweet, Simon. You listen to me and behave for me, even when you don’t want to. You always make me feel so good.”
Simon's panting now, his heart and lungs working overtime from all this excitement.
“You talking like that—God, you don’t know what it does to me,” he says, between gasps of breath.
“So you’ll do it?” I can’t stop tormenting him, just to see his beautiful reactions. My fingers twist in his long hair. “You’ll blow me, like a good boy?”
Simon hesitates to respond, his expression pained. I think with that one, I may have finally broken him. I pull on several locks of his hair while giving a gentle nudge to his shoulder. Gently, gently, I guide him down to his knees.
I’m sweating and shaking from this little situation I’ve found myself in. I genuinely can’t remember a time on Earth when I was this overcome with desire for someone. When I get like this, when Simon gets me like this, it feels like some demon that’s been crawling around in the recesses of my brain forces its way out and demands to express each of my deepest, darkest desires. In other words, it’s agonizingly, unbearably hot.
“You look beautiful down there, sweet thing,” I murmur to Simon. He refuses to give me the satisfaction of any expression other than a glare of annoyance, but I can see his eyes shine as he takes in my words.
And it’s true, Simon really looks beautiful on his knees. He stares defiantly at me, as if he has something to prove. Which he doesn’t. My Simon is perfect the way he is.
“Don’t,” Simon says, his breath haggard.
“Don’t what?” I tilt my head. “Don’t praise you?”
He shuts his eyes, shakes his head.
“Look at me, Simon,” I say. I yank on his hair, forcing his neck to crane upwards. His eyes snap open. He bites down on his lip with such force that I think he’ll draw blood.
“You don’t want me to praise you?” I repeat. “You don’t want me to tell you how sweet and how good you are? How much I adore you? You’re going to sit here and act like you don’t love it?”
“No—fuck," Simon hisses. He squirms in my grip.
“No?” I ask quizzically. I caress the side of his face with the hand that’s not tangled in his hair. Even his scars here are beautiful to me. It’s really a shame he insists on misbehaving so much; otherwise, I would tell him so right now.
I give one experimental pull to his hair again, and that small action causes the metaphorical dam to burst open.
“I mean, yes, I just—fuck, please—I was lying, I swear to you, I didn’t mean it,” Simon gasps. “I love it, I love it so much; I love it when you talk to me like that.”
“Oh, is that right?” I murmur. “You can be my good boy?”
“I can—" Simon hiccups. “I can be your good boy.”
“That’s what I thought,” I say. My thumb strokes his lips, and his tongue darts out to meet it.
With a gentle movement, I guide him closer so that his face nuzzles between my legs. I watch his eyes close—a subtle reflex, not like his earlier, embarrassing efforts to hide from me.
“If you’re a good boy, you must know what to do now,” I continue. My hands nudge Simon’s face as I unzip my pants. He opens his eyes upon hearing the noise. I watch as his lips part and his breath speeds up.
Finally, I free my cock from the confines of my clothing. I’m achingly hard, and I feel uncharacteristically slutty from the way my cock bobs in the air, swollen and twitching.
Simon can’t take his eyes off it, which is cute and hot at the same time. I’m drunk on power, knowing that all I have to do is drop my pants and I’ll have his undivided attention.
“Can I…” Simon breathes. His tongue slips out between his lips again. “Can I taste you?”
“Oh, Simon,” I purr. “Asking so nicely. Of course you can, my sweet thing.”
He leans in, and I shiver at the sensation of his face against my skin. Unexpectedly—I try not to be too disappointed—he doesn’t go for my cock right away. Instead, he buries his face between my thigh and my crotch.
I tremble. For the second time today, I realize he’s smelling me. He drags himself slowly between my legs, letting the sweat and musk of me fill his senses. His nose pushes against thick hair—only minimally groomed, but I don’t think he’s too worried about that.
Then, before I can process, I feel the wet heat of Simon’s tongue on my skin. He licks every exposed bit of skin on my lower stomach, my inner thighs, between my legs. He drinks in each drop of sweat that’s accumulated on me over the past day.
The world spins around me. I feel gooey and sticky and messy in the best way. Simon’s mouth is warm and wet, and if I move my hips just slightly, I might be able to—
Then Simon’s hand is on my cock, gripping with a feather-light touch. He lifts it up and pushes himself underneath. It rests against his face as he breathes me in. The image is so lewd that I have to grip the wall to steady myself. In between inhales, he suckles gently at the skin around the base of my cock. It’s so good and just not enough.
I start to speak but lose my train of thought as Simon moves lower and lower. He noses at my balls, gentle but insistent. The slight pressure is delicious torture. I have to throw a hand over my eyes to help block out the overwhelming sensation.
His tongue darts out to lick me, and I shiver as it travels across the skin of my sac. He explores me eagerly, without abandon. I feel exposed, an object on display. An icon of a deity, meant to be worshiped.
I groan as his lips wrap around one of my balls. The gentle, sucking pressure of his mouth is overwhelming. His tongue swirls back and forth, coating my sac in a mess of saliva. I'm completely, utterly debased, and he’s still barely touched my cock.
“Simon,” I whine. My hand cradles the back of his neck. At first, he doesn’t let up. The slick sound of mouth-on-skin makes my dick twitch. I need to be inside him—I can’t think of anything else.
I tug on Simon’s hair, and like always, that gets his attention. He peers up at me, eyes cloudy, a slight frown on his face from being disrupted. His pupils are blown wider than I’ve ever seen them.
“Smells so good,” he says, words slurring together. “Please, Ry.”
“Sweetheart,” I coo. My fingers comb through his hair. “You wanna suck me now? Make me feel so good?”
Simon nods vigorously. My heart melts at how open, how eager he is now.
I pull him closer, nudging my thumb between his lips. He opens up beautifully for me.
“Look at that pretty mouth,” I sigh. “I think you were made to take me.”
I can’t take my eyes off of Simon’s tongue sticking out, wet and sloppy. He trembles with anticipation, staring into my eyes.
Finally—after what feels like ages—I guide him towards my cock. I tap it against his tongue once, twice. I throb with need, already leaking precum all over him.
“You’re gonna take this so well, I just know you are,” I tell him. He blinks slowly at me, then drags his tongue against the underside of my tip.
“Oh, fuck,” I can’t keep from swearing as his lips finally wrap around me. I can feel him grin in response, even though his mouth is full.
Suddenly, I lose the ability to form intelligent words. Instead, I pant and moan like a whore as the warmth of Simon envelops my cock. It’s euphoria. Each small movement makes my stomach twist with pleasure. My brain starts to melt and flow out of my ears. I can feel myself throb against his tongue, my precum leaking like a faucet and mixing with his spit. Diligently, maddeningly, he continues to suck with the perfect amount of pressure to keep me on edge. I need more.
Barely conscious of my own actions, I find my hands at the back of Simon’s head. I push gently, just enough to nudge him a bit further down my shaft.
Simon makes a noise around my cock that should absolutely not be as erotic as it is. I feel his throat clench around me, his gag reflex trying to protect him. Despite the discomfort, he looks obediently up at me. His eyes, sparkling with tears, are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“Yeah, that’s it, oh my God,” I say, voice trembling. I can’t breathe; I can’t think. Simon runs his tongue up the underside of my cock, drawing more embarrassing noises out of me. He traces a vein along my shaft and slowly pulls up to my tip.
“This is insane,” I mutter, shaking my head. A few beads of sweat drip from my hair into my eyes. Meanwhile, Simon sucks gently at my tip, tonguing where it connects to the shaft.
I can’t stop myself from gripping the back of his head, keeping him in place, right where I need him to be. My hips twitch unconsciously, trying to push myself further into his warm, wet mouth. I groan, thinking about thrusting all the way in despite his protests, giving him all my cum deep in his throat.
I’m going to be there sooner rather than later, at this rate. I was already worked up before we started, and at no point in time has Simon gone easy on me today.
“Simon,” I moan. My voice sounds helpless to me. “You take it so well; I'm not gonna last, damn it—!"
Simon runs his tongue across my slit, lips still wrapped around my cockhead. I can feel him swallow around me, drinking down the precum that I’ve been leaking so heavily for him. My nerves feel like they’re on fire. Despite my warning him, he doesn't stop lavishing this sensitive part of me with attention.
I feel a telling curl in my stomach, and then I can’t stop the feeling as it builds and builds. My cock throbs. I need to release.
“Oh my God, Simon, gonna come,” I practically yell. He lifts ever so slightly off of me, his tongue still connected to my tip.
And then, finally, it happens. I force my eyes to stay open, to watch Simon as I come. I’m shaking like a leaf, my vision practically whiting out with every wave of my orgasm. My cock twitches and spurts, gushing cum over my gorgeous Simon’s face. He has the sense to close his eyes, but he stays perfectly in place, even as I cover him.
I inhale shakily when I think it’s finally done. My cock leaks a few remaining drops over Simon’s lips, but otherwise starts to soften. My legs tremble—I'm surprised I’m still able to stand.
I whine wordlessly, sinking against the wall. I feel so, so unbelievably good. But part of me is also disgusted with what I just did. What will Simon have to say in response to this?!
Simon’s movement catches my attention out of the corner of my eye. With his eyes still closed, he lifts his hand to his face and drags his fingers across his cheek where some of my cum has landed. He brings it to his mouth and tastes it, a soft moan escaping him. He sits there for a few seconds, barely moving.
That snaps me out of my thoughts.
“Oh, sweetheart,” I murmur. No malice or sarcasm remains behind the nickname anymore. It slips out without me even thinking about it.
I’m consumed by the overwhelming urge to take care of him. My weak legs find their strength, and I make my way over to the bathroom, where I quickly acquire a damp washcloth.
Returning to the “Don’t Go Crazy” Room, I’m shocked to find Simon still on his knees. He turns his head to me, blinks a few times, but doesn’t speak.
“Simon!” I exclaim, running over to him. My knees crash onto the floor in my effort to reach him ASAP.
With more force than was probably necessary, I pull him into a tight hug. My arms wrap around his torso. I feel him trembling against me, hesitantly leaning into my touch.
“Don’t even worry, I got you,” I tell him. I brush a strand of hair out of his face and raise the warm washcloth to his skin. He sits very nicely for me, letting me take the utmost care in cleaning him up.
When I’m all done, I cup his face with the palm of my hand. I love the feel of him, the soft skin, the prickle of stubble, the texture of his scars. To my dismay, I notice the glint of tears in his eyes. Still, he says nothing.
“Simon,” I say, my breath hitching. “My love. You okay?”
He stares at me, hesitant, unsure.
“Hey,” I whisper, stroking his face. “It's alright. Listen. Let me tell you something. Do you remember when we found you? When you first woke up?”
A few tears escape and spill down Simon’s face. He shakes his head no.
“Yeah, I guess not.” My hands clench. I swallow thickly. “I, um. I stayed with you the whole time. I helped get you clean. Helped you feel better, even if it was just a little bit.”
The smallest hint of a smile appears on Simon’s face through the waterworks.
“I had you back then, and I still have you now,” I continue, voice breaking. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that you're not dirty. Not to me. And you never have been.”
Simon wipes away at his tears hastily, messily. I draw him in close to me again, tuck his head into my shoulder.
“You sure you’re not an angel?” he whispers. I snort, causing him to smile against my neck.
“Can angels have sex this incredible?” I ask. I’m joking, but my eyes fill with tears of my own.
Simon laughs, short and sweet. I squeeze him tight, blinking the wetness out of my vision. We hold each other close for a few minutes; the only sounds are our breathing and the splash of waves from the sound system.
“...They might be able to," Simon finally responds. He looks up at me, tired and bleary-eyed but happy.
I scoff. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Hey,” Simon retorts. “You can’t back out now. You owe me.”
I almost argue, then bite my tongue, realizing how much of a dick move it is to argue with your partner who didn’t orgasm. Instead, I decide to lean into it.
“Oh, you wanna go again?” I smirk, and watch as Simon’s cheeks flush. “Just say the word, sweetheart.”