Shadow of the Templar Lacunae: Double Down, Chapter 10.5

On timeline: ... guess
Spoilers for: ... guess
Warnings: oh, look, Simon's being a dick again, also there's porn and cussin'

Yeah, I pretty much always knew I was going to write this one some day.

      Now Jeremy smiled, a particularly humorless and unpleasant expression. "That will have to remain a mystery, I'm afraid."

      "Changed my mind," Simon said tersely, and hit the turn signal, taking the exit for his apartment.

10.5

      Neither of them said another word for some time.

      Deep in thought (or in something) Simon took the Jeep home, easing it deliberately under the carport and rolling to a gentle stop. Shutting off the Jeep created a vacuum of silence so immense that it threatened to suck Simon right down into it; he could hear the buzzing of his ears trying to fill the void. Jeremy tapped his fingers against his thighs in an idle rhythm. For a moment it looked like Jeremy was going to say something—then he smiled a smile without any humor in it, made a small sound that might have been either clearing his throat or laughing under his breath, and undid his seatbelt. Once he'd done that, Simon did the same.

      Their car doors opened and shut in a quick one-two-three-four rhythm, the echoes swiftly dying back down into that strangled silence. After a moment of hesitation Jeremy set off across the parking lot and Simon fell in behind him, dropping back a few steps to keep his eyes on the back of Jeremy's neck; Jeremy glanced at Simon, once, a quick peek back over his shoulder, and then looked straight ahead, all the way across the lot and up the stairs. There might have been a little something different about the way he was walking, but it wasn't clear whether it was something more, or something less.

      Once they reached Simon's door Simon leaned past Jeremy long enough to unlock the door and push it open. He didn't make a move to enter, though, and after another slight moment of hesitation Jeremy went on in. Simon followed him, closed the door behind himself without looking back, and did up the locks, largely by feel. Jeremy had stopped a few feet away, his back still to Simon. Simon watched him wait, trying to figure out if Jeremy looked tense, trying to figure out if he cared.

      Simon dropped his keys onto the table by the door, then fished out his wallet and his gun and put them there, too. He'd had some time to think, now, although he wasn't sure if it was technically thinking or just brooding—before he could get distracted by that thought, he stepped up and crowded himself against Jeremy's back. Jeremy's swift little intake of breath could have meant damned near anything. Whatever it meant, it went through Simon like a shiver, leaving him sharp and awake. He stuck two fingers under the collar of Jeremy's jacket. "I'm going to take this off you now," Simon said, finally breaking the silence. "Say 'yes'."

      Jeremy's head turned, just a fraction of an inch, letting Simon see the curve of his cheek. "Yes," he said. His voice was quiet and without inflection. It too could have meant anything. Anything could mean anything. Simon didn't care.

      Still, it was what Simon had told him to say, so Simon caught Jeremy's collar and stripped his jacket straight down. It came off with ridiculous ease—whether it was because Jeremy had helped it go or because Simon hadn't bothered to be gentle about it, it didn't matter. Jeremy's hands fell back to his sides, fingers flexing. Discarding Jeremy's jacket onto the couch, Simon checked him for forearm harnesses, found none, then caught a fold of Jeremy's t-shirt. "I'm going to take this off you next," Simon said, tweaking Jeremy's t-shirt to get his attention, then easing it free of his pants. "Say 'yes' again."

      For a moment he was afraid that Jeremy was going to be Jeremy and actually say the words 'Yes again', but Jeremy was capable of being sensitive to moods when he wanted to be, and this seemed to be one of those rare times—"Yes," Jeremy said again, lifting his chin.

      Simon grabbed the hem of Jeremy's t-shirt and yanked it up, forcing Jeremy's arms up above his head. A stitch popped somewhere. Simon kept pulling until Jeremy's head popped free of the fabric, then reversed himself and pulled down, wrenching Jeremy's arms back down and whipping the t-shirt free of them like a magician performing a trick. Jeremy's arms dropped. His chin dropped. His hair fell in his face. He didn't move to push it back. Simon tossed Jeremy's t-shirt on top of his jacket.

      Catching Jeremy's hips in both hands Simon turned Jeremy to face him. Jeremy's little revolution was eminently graceful (Simon had expected nothing less) and left him gazing peacefully somewhere off over Simon's shoulder, his mussed hair curling on his forehead in two crashing waves. He wore that little smile that didn't mean anything at all. The muscles in his stomach flexed, once, then went still again, tinted blue and orange by the lights from the parking lot.

      Simon unbuckled Jeremy's belt and let the buckle fall, then picked open the buttons of Jeremy's pants, one after another, until Jeremy's pants gaped open to reveal the rest of his stomach and the usual barely-there band of his underwear. Simon pushed his thumbs under the waistband of Jeremy's pants. "Now I'm going to take these off you. Say 'yes' again—" Simon paused "—you bastard."

      That was enough to earn him a brief, flicking glance and a momentary ripple of reaction that raced across Jeremy's torso. The little smile might have widened, or it might have been a trick of the light. "Yes," said Jeremy.

      Simon nodded and dropped to one knee, taking Jeremy's pants with him. Once they'd fallen to the ground, Simon stood back up, taking his own sweet time about it. Jeremy's eyes flicked across Simon's like he was checking for something, then he obligingly kicked his pants the rest of the way off. Simon paused, and didn't move again until Jeremy fell still.

      Once Jeremy had returned to his passive state Simon put his hand on Jeremy's shoulder, rubbed a reflective thumb along his collarbone, then let his fingers trail down across Jeremy's chest and stomach until he could hook them underneath the waistband of Jeremy's underwear. Crisp curly hairs brushed against his knuckles, and just below Simon's fingers Jeremy's cock stirred like a leviathan in the depths—slowly, patiently, Simon gathered up a bigger and bigger handful of Jeremy's underwear, until his fingers found their way out one of the leg-holes and the fabric was stretched high-wire taut. Simon took a deep and somewhat unsteady breath. "I am going to tear these off you now," he said, pitching his voice low like he was sharing a secret. "I mean that. Say 'yes'. You know how much I love it when you say 'yes' to me." By the end he wasn't even bothering to hide the bitterness.

      Jeremy shifted his weight. Not much, just enough to (with some luck) protect his balls from what was coming. He didn't rise to the challenge otherwise. "Yes," he said.

      "Miserable secretive bastard," Simon said, still bitter. His hand clenched into a fist around its fat handful of Jeremy's underwear and Simon jerked his hand up—he'd always thought that those skimpy underpants would tear like tissue paper, but still he managed to force Jeremy up onto his toes before the straining fabric consented to let go. Once it started to tear, of course, it gave in a big hurry, the fabric ripping away from the seams over both hips with two staggering, staccato sounds like zippers breaking. Jeremy hissed and bit at his lower lip for just an instant, shifting so that Simon could yank the shredded remains of his underwear back down out of the crack of his ass—that part was almost funny, in a nasty way. Simon flicked his fingers and discarded the destroyed remnants of Jeremy's underwear, not caring in the least where they went.

      Now that that was out of the way, Simon meditatively pulled his own shirt off over his head, taking his time about it. Jeremy watched him do it, still wearing that meaningless smile, although his gaze was sharp enough for Simon to cut himself on. Simon barely looked at him, just stared off at some dark patch of floor just past Jeremy's bare hip while he tossed his shirt aside and unbuckled his belt and undid his jeans—

      Once those were off, Simon hesitated, then fished Jeremy's jacket out of the untidy pile of clothing. A lazy patdown of its pockets found... a lot of things, actually, but three of those things were blue-wrapped condoms, which were what Simon had been after. Simon rubbed one between his fingers, absently noting both the slight slipping sensation and the even slighter wet noise. The other two he dropped back onto Jeremy's jacket. Rolling the little square over and over in his fingers, Simon thought about it for a moment, then shrugged and tucked it into the band of his underwear, for safekeeping. Jeremy's smile might have widened at that, or it might not.

      Catching Jeremy's shoulders in both hands, Simon turned him around again, mostly so that he didn't have to look at that smile. Jeremy let him do it. Simon brushed idle fingers across the winged shapes of Jeremy's shoulderblades, then snatched Jeremy back against his chest (or crushed himself up against Jeremy's back, one or the other, it didn't matter). One arm locked across Jeremy's waist, the other curled up to trap one of Jeremy's arms, and Simon leaned down and got himself a good mouthful of the side of Jeremy's neck.

      Jeremy hitched in another breath and then settled back against Simon like there wasn't a bone in his body, going heavy and warm in his arms. Simon's dick found itself a warm spot somewhere around the small of Jeremy's back, which was nice, but not currently all that important. What was important... there wasn't a force in the universe strong enough to make Simon admit to feeling possessive of his current burden, but still he chewed on that bit of Jeremy's neck like it belonged to him and needed to have his name written across it—by the time he lifted his mouth away Jeremy's skin bore a bright red spot, already speckled with purple. Simon leaned in a little closer and selected a different spot.

      Jeremy still hung passive in his grip by the time Simon decided that he was done with that. Five little spots were scattered across the side of Jeremy's throat, the oldest now purpling, the newest still red, and just the sight of them gave Simon back a little of his equilibrium. He paused to consider his handiwork and Jeremy glanced back at him, with another of those tiny breathy sounds that could have been a laugh, or a sigh, or just a sound.

      "Say 'yes'," Simon said again, his voice husky now.

      Jeremy didn't ask what he was agreeing to. "Yes," he said.

      Simon grabbed Jeremy's shoulders and shoved him down. For a bare moment there was some resistance, then Jeremy folded up and fell onto his knees. Simon's hands flicked away, and the room went still again. It was an odd position, an odd angle, and Simon touched two fingers to the back of Jeremy's head before dismissing his slight discomfort. Simon fetched the condom out of his underwear and fell back a step, giving himself just enough room to wriggle out of his briefs and toss them aside. Contemplating the back of Jeremy's head (which was uninformative) Simon ripped the condom free of its wrapper and rolled it on, dealing with it, wondering if he'd seen that little flick of tension across Jeremy's shoulders or just imagined it. He tossed the wrapper aside and dropped to his knees behind Jeremy—he landed a little too hard, wincing, but neither of them mentioned it, so it might as well have not happened at all. "Gonna say 'yes' again?" Simon asked, putting his hand lightly on Jeremy's back.

      "Yes," said Jeremy.

      "I knew you were going to say that," Simon said, still a little bitter about it, and he pushed Jeremy over.

      Jeremy caught himself on his hands and knees, but all of a sudden it wasn't good enough. Simon grabbed both of Jeremy's arms just below the elbow and yanked them up and back. Jeremy... didn't precisely fall onto his face on the carpet, but still, there he was, on his knees with his face ground into the rug and his arms pinioned behind his back. He caught his breath with a little hiss, his hands balling into fists and relaxing again. Simon took a few moments to transfer both of Jeremy's wrists into one widespread hand—it was more of a symbolic gesture than anything else, but it worked, since Jeremy wasn't fighting it—and used his free hand to get himself situated. "Back up," he said.

      Somehow, Jeremy did, at least a little. His curled spine straightened, pushing him back onto Simon's cock—it was a rough and dragging entrance, not too much of either, just enough of both. They both hissed in unison, then Simon grabbed both of Jeremy's arms at the elbow and pulled him back the rest of the way. Wheelbarrow, snowplow, suspension bridge, whatever—Jeremy hung suspended from Simon's grip on his pinned arms, the tension of it keeping his face off the floor. His head hung down, his mussed hair now curling in mid-air. He was breathing hard, Simon was pleased to note.

      Reflectively, Simon gave it a try, just like this. He couldn't get much leverage on the outward pull, but slamming in again was a cakewalk. From Simon's vantage, it was easy. His grip on Jeremy's arms kept Jeremy pinned just where Simon needed him, and kept Jeremy braced against the forward momentum, to boot. Of course, from Jeremy's standpoint there were four hands in the equation and not a single one to spare for his cock, but right now, as far as Simon was concerned, that didn't matter. Simon's fingers dug into the pits of Jeremy's elbows, eliciting a hoarse and breathless sound from Jeremy, but not a single word of protest. The closest Jeremy came to complaint was the flexing of his trapped and impotent hands, his fingers snapping into claws before splaying out again.

      Leaning back against his grip on Jeremy's arms, Simon fixed his eyes on the undulating knobs of Jeremy's spine and went to town—Jeremy choked out a sound and instinctively curled forward against Simon's weight, which was good, because otherwise they would both have gone over backwards. It worked like magic as long as Simon didn't get fancy. It started deep and it stayed deep, quick pumping, jostling thrusts that never pulled Simon's dick too far out of Jeremy. Everything strained against everything else, but somehow they managed not to rip themselves apart.

      The negligible amount of lube on the condom was rapidly wearing through, but it was enough—it was still enough—it would just have to be enough. Jeremy's mussed hair hung down low enough to brush back and forth across the carpet with every thrust, leaving him gasping open-mouthed not two inches from the floor. It was hard to see from this angle, but by craning his neck Simon could see enough to keep himself happy: Jeremy hunched over like a turtle, the muscles in his shoulders standing out in sharp relief as he strained against Simon's grip, his abandoned cock jutting out in midair and bobbing stupidly with every short, sharp thrust that Simon made, which was almost funny—

      —Simon was really starting to feel it in his gut now and then Jeremy arched up, the bridge of his spine sinking and vanishing between the bunching muscles of his back. The shape that the two of them made changed on the instant, Simon falling back before his grip on Jeremy's arms caught him again, so that now he was slamming up into Jeremy. Jeremy worked himself back against Simon at that odd angle for the space of a handful of seconds before he groaned under his breath—Simon couldn't quite see it happen, but he could by God feel it, Jeremy's body jerking and tightening around him as Jeremy came in sharp bursts all over the carpet. Simon could see that part, at least.

      The further back Simon leaned, the deeper he could get—Simon was barely aware of how far back he had fallen until his sheer mass pulled Jeremy upright. For a heartbeat of time Simon thought he would lose it, fall onto his back and probably pull a muscle in his thigh in the process—but Jeremy caught him, managing somehow to brace himself against Simon's weight for a few precious seconds. It was Simon's turn to find himself half-suspended, but he most assuredly did not care, because those final few strokes jammed him into Jeremy so hard that he could feel it in his spine. Simon's breath roared out of him as he came as well, finally.

      For a long moment they quivered there in mid-air, and then it all fell apart like a bridge in an earthquake. Jeremy's shaking arms snapped down and dropped Simon onto his back, hard enough to jar the air out of his lungs. Simon didn't quite hurt himself, but his legs popped out from underneath him with a vengeance—he kicked Jeremy somewhere, but he wasn't sure where—and he pulled Jeremy down after him, to boot. Jeremy sat down hard on Simon's cock, making them both yelp, but somehow, through blind luck, they escaped without serious injury. Eventually Simon managed to unknot his cramping fingers and let his hands drop; Jeremy reclaimed his arms, gingerly rotating his abused shoulders before pushing himself up and off Simon.

      Sprawled out on the carpet, Simon stared up at the ceiling. The little rosettes of plaster were slashed into pieces by the knife-edged shadows of the miniblinds. It was weirdly pretty, not that Simon cared. "Your fucking ex-boyfriend," he said, finally exposing the bitter heart of it all. "Jesus Christ, of all the fucking luck—" A stray memory poked him, a little twitch of a thing related to something Jeremy had said earlier. "At least, he'd better be your 'ex-'."

      For a long moment, Jeremy was silent, long enough to make Simon's hackles rise—Jeremy's answer, when it came, was weirdly normal, like they were only talking about the weather. "Or else... what?" Jeremy said, rubbing his arms. Little red marks were rising here and there where Simon's fingers had dug in. They'd be black by morning.

      The rising roaring tide of fuck you that's mine that overcame Simon, he'd never admit to—he used its energy to throw himself back upright, grabbing Jeremy's arm. "He had better be," Simon said, low in his throat, like a growl. "That's all."

      Jeremy twitched his arm free, almost gently. "Then let me assure you, Simon, you have nothing to worry about on that score."

      The tide went back out, slowly. Simon found himself sitting sprawled on the carpet in the front room, naked, sweaty, and sticky, still half-wearing an unpleasantly-full condom. Jeremy was kneeling between Simon's outflung legs, tending to his forming bruises. At some point he'd raked his fingers through his hair and put it back in order. "Okay," Simon said. He hesitated, then awkwardly put his hand on Jeremy's shoulder. "Okay. You don't lie to me much that I know of, so I'll take your word for it—"

      "—how kind of you—"

      "—and so I guess I owe you a reacharound or something," Simon said, aiming for levity and missing. "I mean, it's not even midnight, I don't think we're necessarily done here."

      "No?" Jeremy said, and his voice was possibly a bit flat, but he allowed Simon to help him to his feet a moment later.

COMMENTS:
I went to a fair amount of trouble to reacquaint myself with where I'd placed all of Jeremy's bruises and such—and then someone at Team Templar pointed out that Jeremy had been wearing his bodysuit earlier that day. Whoops. I hereby claim that he slipped off to the bathroom at headquarters and took the catsuit off before they went to dinner, in order to facilitate exactly this. It happened just like that. I swear!

Hooray for unusual positions and their weird writing demands, I guess.