Shadow of the Templar Lacunae: High Fidelity, Chapter 21.3

On timeline: smack-dab in the early middle of High Fidelity
Spoilers for: a general miasma of spoilers for things up to that point, as usual, but nothing really explicit
Warnings: mostly just, you know, porn

Requested from me during one of my infrequent story-prompt-request extravaganzas—do those count as extravaganzas? High Fidelity—like Double Down, there is a lot of fading to black.



      "Simon," Jeremy started to say, pained, and then shut his eyes. "I suppose you're not leaving me much choice."

      Simon couldn't help but smile. "Nope," he said. "None at all. Come on, I came all this way."

      For a long moment Jeremy was silent, his eyes shut, his face drawn and oddly gray. His exposed stomach shifted every time he breathed, the sharply-delineated muscles flexing to accommodate his sigh—then Jeremy let his eyes drift open and favored Simon with the ghost of a smile. "Well, Simon," he said, and the raw purr of it made Simon shut his eyes. "If you want me to take it off that badly—"

      "Oh yeah," Simon breathed unsteadily, looping another turn of the t-shirt around his wrist and reeling Jeremy in. "That's what I was looking for."


      The ensuing kiss was tentative and weirdly delicate. Jeremy's lips just barely brushed against Simon's, soft and barely parted—if the rest of Jeremy hadn't been tense enough to make the air around Simon vibrate, Simon might almost have called the little kiss sweet, which would have been wrong for a whole lot of reasons.

      The ghostly smile was long gone. Jeremy was stiff as a board, strung out between the seat of his chair and Simon's mouth, clutching at the armrests of the chair with both hands rather than reaching forward to put his arms around Simon's neck. The fact that he was allowing it at all was encouraging, but—"C'mon," Simon said under his breath, breathing the words directly into Jeremy's mouth like verbal CPR.

      "Simon," Jeremy said, falling back down into desolation. For a moment he looked like he might say something else, but then a door closed somewhere down the hall and Jeremy jerked like he'd been punched. For a moment Simon could see white all the way around the irises of Jeremy's eyes as they rolled towards the door.

      "C'mon," Simon said again, giving Jeremy a tiny shake by dint of his fistful of Jeremy's t-shirt. "It's okay. Maybe not for long, but for right now, it's okay."

      Jeremy made a little noise and shut his eyes in acquiescence. From this close Simon could almost count his lashes where they lay fanned across his cheek—then Jeremy twisted himself free of Simon's grip with a shocking suddenness, snatching his t-shirt free with both hands. "What," Simon started to say, falling awkwardly backwards and just barely catching himself, but by that time Jeremy's twisting momentum had already spun him to the door, the chair in his hands. Without pausing Jeremy jammed the chair under the doorknob with such force that the wooden frame splintered a little and whipped back around, stalking back towards Simon. He thrashed his way out of the jacket and flung it onto the floor as he came, the expression on his face starting to look just a bit like rage—Simon rose warily to his feet just in time for Jeremy to shove him straight back, towards the bed.

      Simon reeled back the two steps that he'd come and bounced off the foot of the bed, unsettled and trying not to laugh at the same time. This wasn't normal, but really, even an angry Jeremy just didn't seem that threatening—Jeremy hit him like a ton of bricks and bowled him over. Simon coughed out a startled breath as his back hit the bed. Jeremy landed astride him, already ripping his stretched-out t-shirt off over his head. Two faint thumps from the foot of the bed might or might not have been Jeremy's shoes hitting the floor, but either way Simon decided that that wasn't a bad idea and scraped off his sneakers, letting them fall. "Here," he said, thumping the heel of his hand off Jeremy's midsection, "lemme up, I gotta get this stuff off—"

      "God," Jeremy said. Instead of letting Simon up Jeremy fell full-length onto him, all that ropy muscle as taut as wire. There was a sharp chink! sound as Jeremy's belt buckle caught on Simon's and clattered free again. Underneath it Jeremy was already hard, the length of his cock laying full along Simon's through material that felt thinner by the second—Simon thought that he could feel the heat of it, although really, he was feeling the heat of a lot of things.

      "C'mon, lemme up," Simon tried, fidgeting the tail of his shirt free of the waistband of his jeans.

      Jeremy didn't answer, instead burying his face against the side of Simon's neck. His lips drew lightly down from Simon's ear to his collarbone, leaving a delicate trail in the faint sweat there and making Simon shiver. When Jeremy reached the collar of Simon's shirt, his lips lifted away again; Simon nudged at the edge of Jeremy's jaw, kind of hoping to lure him into one of those kisses he liked. Jeremy's breath was shuddery against Simon's chest, adding yet another layer of steam to the heat of the room, and of the two of them... Jeremy bucked his hips forward and bit Simon's shoulder right through the fabric of his shirt, and the combination made Simon strangle on a yelp that he was too manly to admit to.

      Suddenly everything was in motion, Jeremy grinding down against Simon for all he was worth without a goddamned bit of care for the clothing they were still wearing. "Jesus, c'mon," Simon gasped, grabbing at Jeremy's bare back, then grabbing at it again. "I gotta, I gotta, I gotta—" but the lure of it was just too damn much. It would be so easy—nothing was simpler than this—hell, he was halfway there already, and the friction was astonishing, akin to carpet burn. Simon threw his head back against the pillow and grabbed Jeremy's ass in both hands, bucking up against him. Jeremy bit his shoulder again, harder this time, and slammed Simon right back down. Every breath burst out of him with a sharp 'hah'. Christ, what is this, high school again ran through Simon's mind, as well as something a lot blurrier about how maybe this was exactly what Jeremy needed right now, and then he gave up and groaned aloud as Jeremy's cock ground down against his and dragged the fabric of Simon's underwear roughly up along the length of him—it was hot and uncomfortable and glorious, and their belts clattered together with a repetitive, unmusical sound, and there were arms and legs everywhere and it was not the most graceful Simon had ever been and he didn't care

      It lifted him straight up when he came. Simon bucked up underneath Jeremy so hard that for a moment only his feet and his shoulders were touching the bed, his eyes and mouth both flying open, emitting a tiny croak that was entirely at odds with how wide his jaw was open—Jeremy bit Simon's shoulder hard enough to hurt and graveled out a harsh, cawing sound of his own, their cocks jumping and pulsing and shuddering against one another—and then it was over. Simon collapsed back onto the bed, breathing hard and sweating harder, with Jeremy still half-taut atop him. Here in a moment Simon would care a whole lot about what he'd just done in his jeans, but for right now he just wheezed and absently patted the damp planes of Jeremy's bare, muscled back.

      Eventually Jeremy rolled off him. With unsteady fingers Jeremy fiddled his belt free and eeled out of his pants. Simon watched this in vague appreciation for a long moment, then followed Jeremy's lead, getting out of his sticky clothes before he was forced to realize how gross they felt; he was almost too wiped to sit up long enough to wriggle out of his shirt, but eventually, he did.

      It had grown dim in here at some point, Simon belatedly realized. The last stripes of the sunset still dyed the room a deep pink, but that was all; the rest was streetlights. Beside him, Jeremy was quiet, the quivering tension momentarily damped. That was probably good, Simon's stunned mind told him. That was probably what he'd wanted.



Sometimes nothing will do but quick, no-frills, half-clothed frottage, and that's all I intend to say about that.