Shadow of the Templar Lacunae: The Morning Star, Codicil

On timeline: right after the end of The Morning Star
Spoilers for: The Morning Star
Warnings: porn—giggly porn—first-time porn—also bad jokes and a curse word or two

If The Morning Star had ended a mere couple of hours later than it did...



      One of them had eventually gotten the front door open, Simon was sure of that much, but for the life of him he couldn't remember who—ordinarily he'd assume it had been him, since he had the key, but given that the other person in this equation was Jeremy, who knew? Still, someone opened it, and they both fell through in a breathless tangle, so keyed up with anticipation that they were teetering on the verge of hysteria. Someone kicked the door closed behind them. Since the closed door was right there and all, Simon shoved Jeremy back against it and fell on him again. Jeremy's mouth only had the slightest smoky tang to it, just enough to give it its own unusual flavor. Simon had been expecting a taste like licking an ashtray, and he was happy to be wrong about that.

      Jeremy caught Simon's face in both hands and pulled him down—Jeremy kissed like he was two seconds from devouring Simon's face at all times, which Simon didn't mind too much—and to keep Jeremy from getting too grabby Simon grabbed the back of Jeremy's jacket and yanked it straight down.

      Jeremy's hands whipped away from Simon's face as his jacket pulled his arms down. It barely broke the kiss, just long enough for Jeremy to laugh about his predicament, and then he started fighting against the tangled-up jacket and trying to free his arms even as he craned back up to bite at Simon's lower lip. The weight of Simon against his chest kept him pushed up against the door, which made it all a bit awkward. Simon wasn't inclined to move. It didn't matter. Jeremy thrashed against him for a moment, and then Jeremy's jacket hit the floor (a bit too heavily, which Simon wasn't going to think about). Jeremy grabbed Simon's face again, the fingers of both hands sifting back into Simon's hair.

      Gasping, entirely entertained, Simon made a half-assed attempt at the buttons of his shirt, managing to work exactly one button open before he got distracted again. Jeremy's hands left Simon's hair and worked their way down, managing somehow to be everywhere for a few moments before winding up shoved into the back pockets of Simon's jeans for some reason, a weirdly possessive little gesture which Simon hadn't been on the receiving end of since high school. "No stealing my wallet, Archer," Simon said, snickering, biting at Jeremy's throat. "House rule."

      Jeremy's eyebrow had a little spasm. "Curses," he said, "foiled again," and they both made breathless snerking noises which nearly turned into a full-on laugh riot. They were only saved when Jeremy's wrist nudged against the grip of Simon's gun, which made them both jump, for different reasons—"Oh, my," Jeremy said, recovering first. "Going to show me your gun, officer?"

      "Nah, I think you've seen it before," Simon said, but all the same he pulled it out of his waistband, holster and all, and tossed it at the chair by the door. It hit awkwardly, slid off the edge, and wound up on the floor. Good enough. "And while we're on the subject of disarmament, Archer..."

      Jeremy glanced down at his weapon harnesses, clearly visible without the jacket to hide them. "Another house rule?" he said. Even as he said it, though, he reclaimed his hands and pulled on the topmost strap, filling the air with the sound of ripping velcro. Already bored with waiting Simon attacked Jeremy's mouth again, leaving Jeremy to fumble blindly around, his shoulders thudding against Simon's chest as they rose and fell—eventually the webbing ran through Jeremy's fingers, falling to the floor atop Simon's gun in a black and spidery tangle. "There," Jeremy breathed against Simon's mouth. "I'm harmless."

      "Right," said Simon. "Harmless."

      The sudden twist in Jeremy's smile gave Simon half a heartbeat of warning before Jeremy shoved one hip forward and twisted it. Suddenly there was some kind of frenetic leg-humping thing going on, and Simon required an extra moment or two to realize that what Jeremy was doing was stepping out of his shoes. Simon groaned out a breath and also kicked off his sneakers, figuring that he didn't need those any more. The hanging edge of Jeremy's rumpled t-shirt winked at him, half-in and half-out of Jeremy's pants, caught on Jeremy's belt—Simon grabbed the hem in both hands and hauled it straight up, forcing Jeremy's arms up into the air. "Hands up," Simon added, just because he could. "No funny business."

      Jeremy spluttered with laughter, his head suddenly mummified in his shirt, his hands, indeed, up. "None at all?" he asked, his voice muffled. "What a pity."

      Not deigning to answer that Simon took half a step back and yanked Jeremy's shirt off him (incidentally dumping most of Jeremy's ridiculously perfect hair in his face, as a glorious bonus). Laughing breathlessly Jeremy fell back against the door, suddenly disheveled and half-naked, clean lines of wiry muscle shifting under the pale tan of his skin as he caught himself—"Jesus, nice," Simon said, startled and deeply appreciative, a sudden surge of blood leaving his brain entirely. He tossed Jeremy's t-shirt aside and muscled Jeremy up against the door again before Jeremy could do anything as stupid as fixing his mussed hair, trying to get his mouth on all that newly-bared skin and rapidly succeeding. He left a litter of little red spots scattered across Jeremy's shoulders and throat, like the world's sexiest case of measles or something.

      Jeremy put up with it admirably for a minute or so before tossing his hair out of his eyes and grabbing for Simon's shirtfront with both hands. "Are we going to do this right here?" he breathed, yanking Simon's shirt free of his jeans, popping open the buttons one after another.

      Just the thought of it, the associated mental images, made Simon groan—Christ, he couldn't remember the last time he was this turned on. Jeremy shoved Simon's shirt off his shoulders and Simon thrashed free in record time, the shirt flying across the room to land somewhere else. Jeremy's eyes flicked down and widened, his tongue ticking off his front teeth in wordless approbation, and Simon couldn't help but grin through the deepening haze of so goddamned horny. "Yeah, we're a hot couple of somethings," he said, bumping his hips forward until their belt buckles clattered together. "And as much as I think I might like to do you right here, no, let's do this thing up right, what do you say—" and he stuck a couple of fingers under the waistband of Jeremy's pants and dragged him towards the bedroom that way.

      Jeremy allowed himself to be dragged off with a marked lack of stumbling, which Simon found only nominally disappointing. At least Jeremy's normal gait had turned into a fast and ridiculous sideways trot of some kind, his hands flicking out to catch the furniture for balance as he went reeling by. His laugh was clear and mocking (who was he mocking? Simon neither knew nor cared) and it floated behind them as Simon dragged Jeremy the thankfully few steps into the bedroom.

      Simon barely got inside the bedroom door before he whipped around and made a murky grab for Jeremy, not exactly sure yet what he was going to do once he had him, maybe drag him bodily to the bed, maybe throw him onto it—Jeremy made a grab for him at the same moment and they ended up crossing the last few feet of the room in a staggering, ludicrous, deteriorating spiral that would have dumped them both onto the floor if the bed hadn't collided with the backs of Simon's knees at the last possible moment. Simon fell onto it, choking on a startled yelp. Jeremy landed on him in almost the same moment, but, being some kind of graceful athletic jerkwad, managed to turn his fall into some kind of controlled collapse; the entire length of one thigh got dragged across the front of Simon's jeans in the process, which was great. Simon yelped again, meaning it. "I'm sorry?" Jeremy purred, not meaning it at all.

      "What for?" Simon said, locking both arms around Jeremy's waist and squeezing until Jeremy coughed out a breath. Sure, Jeremy's lungs might suffer, but the rest of him was pulled up tight against Simon, which was... still great, actually. Simon shut his eyes and bucked up against the sudden pressure, not surprised in the slightest when Jeremy grabbed for him in return and picked up that frantic, sloppy kiss where they'd left it. He was a live wire inside the ring of Simon's arms, all that taut overheated muscle working in concerted effort to, as far as Simon could tell, grind down against him as hard as possible. The absurd and chafing glory of it clamped a band of pressure across Simon's temples like a vise, and it was all he could do not to get swept away—"Nice," Simon grated out, grabbing a double handful of Jeremy's ass and restraining him through main strength.

      "But not enough," Jeremy agreed, his eyes now narrowed to glittering slits.

      "Better make the most of it," Simon said, still breathing hard.

      "While we can?"

      "Yeah," Simon said. "While we can. Christ, you've got a great ass, anybody ever tell you that?"

      "I expect you'll like it even better shortly," said Jeremy, baring his teeth in a purely carnivorous grin. He threw himself up onto his knees and grabbed for his belt—Simon couldn't let that pass unchecked, so he also grabbed for Jeremy's belt, which made for a fumbling, tangled mess of fingers scrambling over the front of Jeremy's pants. And that was fun, so Simon dragged Jeremy's hands down and pressed the whole tangle up against Jeremy's cock, which had gone somewhere beyond merely 'hard' and into 'threatening to burn its way free of the linen any second now'—the choking noise that Jeremy made then made Simon want to hear it a lot more. Like, forever. Record it as his ringtone or something, pay someone to call him every ten minutes—the groan tapered off into a low and rumbling purr which Simon thought he might like even better, and Jeremy pushed up against the knot of their hands, his own fingers tightening around Simon's. "You're not exactly helping," he pointed out.

      "That's me all over," said Simon, pressing the heel of one hand down to eke out another groan. "Unhelpful. ... here, let me." He shook off Jeremy's hands and grabbed for Jeremy's belt, yanking it free of its buckle.

      Jeremy cocked one eyebrow, which said volumes about Simon's supposed unhelpfulness. Still, he canted his hips forward into the pull and ran his fingers lightly over his own chest instead, swiping the sweat off his skin and giving Simon something nice to look at, in the bargain... Simon blinked a few seconds later and discovered that he'd forgotten what he was supposed to be doing. He scowled, yanking Jeremy's belt free of its beltloops with a whip-cracking sound and flinging it away in pique. The button of Jeremy's pants was next, then the zipper—Simon jammed the zipper all the way down with his thumb and still didn't find any underwear, just more skin, not that he minded skin. "Christ, do you go commando under there?" he asked. "Because seriously, that's hot, but not particularly a lifestyle that I endorse."

      "What?" Jeremy said, catching the waistband of his pants in both hands and wrestling them down. "Pardon me—" and falling full-length onto Simon he wriggled out of his pants.

      At basically the last possible second a pair of underwear did make itself known, a slender little black band like a censor's bar that probably had little hope of containing all of Jeremy's parts on a normal day and was having even less luck now. Jeremy's briefs were stretched out so taut by Jeremy's straining erection that Simon could see straight down into them and out one of the legholes on the far side, like they weren't there at all. Simon grabbed for them, making Jeremy jerk against him. "What, you call this underwear?"

      "No," Jeremy said, quirking an eyebrow.

      "What do you mean, 'no'—oh, you've got some, some stupid British word for it, right—"

      "—I call it superfluous," Jeremy purred. A quick roll of his hips made his cock pop right out like a magic trick, thumping heavily against Simon's wrist.

      "Oh, Jesus, do that again," Simon said, momentarily enraptured. A second later he caught himself, though, just as Jeremy made a little snorting noise and squeezed his eyes shut. Simon distracted himself from the ever-lurking hilarity by extracting Jeremy from his ridiculous underthings, mostly by force, although Jeremy's writhing quickly became pointedly helpful. It occurred to Simon that he could just rip them right off Jeremy—it'd be easy, and frankly, underwear that skimpy was just begging to be torn off—but some vague sense of not-rightness stopped him from actually putting this plan into action. Some other time, Simon thought, not really thinking about what he was thinking, and flung Jeremy's briefs away in a random direction.

      Even before Simon could insist on it Jeremy threw himself upright again, winding up astride Simon's thighs. Simon caught Jeremy's hips in both hands, holding him still long enough to get a good look. "God damn," he said, his voice gone thick, his thumb tracing an arc through the sweat on Jeremy's lower belly, an arc that just happened to include the pink blotch of Jeremy's scar. Jeremy caught his breath and Simon winced in unconscious sympathy. "That hurt?"

      "No," Jeremy said huskily. "Oddly numb in places, actually—again?"

      Simon snorted out an acknowledging laugh and ran his thumb over the scar again, dipping it into the shallow bowl of the bullet's entry site. "So that's your kink, huh?"

      "Believe me, Simon, you have no idea of the breadth and depth of my kinks," Jeremy said, that throaty voice like a promise that traveled straight up out of hell to lodge in Simon's groin, "but getting shot is not one, I'm afraid." His hands dropped to spread out across Simon's bare stomach. "Actually," Jeremy added, shifting in a riveting way, "neither is sitting on denim—" and he whipped Simon's own belt free of its buckle.

      "Excuses, excuses, why can't you just admit that you want me naked," Simon said, lightheaded with amusement, among other things.

      "Fair enough," said Jeremy. Simon's jeans were suddenly way too tight and Jeremy was having to fight with the worn material to pop the buttons free, his knuckles bumping back and forth across the trapped shape of Simon's cock—"Because I do think I want you naked."

      "Well! You know what, I think we can arrange that, although you might have to get down for a sec, as awful as that thought is—"

      "In a minute," Jeremy said, wedging his hand under the waistband of Simon's briefs and grabbing hold of his cock. Simon went cross-eyed with the effort that it took not to come right then, which would have been embarrassing even back when he was seventeen and would be inexcusable at twenty-eight. The effort wrung a choked shout out of him, and he was pretty sure he'd convulsed a little, but when his head cleared, he hadn't come yet, which was probably for the best. Jeremy, both eyebrows raised, took Simon's measure with fingers that managed to be both deft and completely maddening. "Oh, very nice," he said, his eyes widening.

      Simon grabbed for Jeremy's sneaky hand with both of his own, winding up with another of those ridiculous tangles of fingers, this one involving both his underwear and his dick. At least it made Jeremy's hand stop moving. "You could act less surprised by that, you know," Simon said, not really trying to pry Jeremy loose. "You wanna get me out of my clothes before I pitch you off and do it myself?"

      "Excellent idea!" Jeremy swung off and lunged forward at the same time, snatching up that kiss from where they'd left it, freeing Simon's cock from his underwear via a clever little fillip of his wrist.

      Somehow they extracted Simon from the rest of his clothes—Simon had to help with the extraction because Jeremy kept trying to eat his face instead of paying attention, which wasn't so bad, now that Simon thought about it. By the time Simon finally kicked off his underwear Jeremy was chewing on his shoulder and humping his thigh and squeezing his cock and while it was all still exhilarating Simon was also starting to get a little impatient. Also he was sideways, on the wrong side of the bed—he flopped his arm out and pointed blindly over his head. "Stuff's in the drawer," he said, nearly choking in the middle.

      "Mm? Ah. Good. Because mine's in my jacket." Jeremy lunged for the bedside table. A fair bit of him went by overhead, not an inch from Simon's nose, so close that Simon could feel the wet heat radiating off Jeremy's skin—by the time the drawer thumped open and its contents started to rattle Simon was looking at the shallow bowl of Jeremy's navel and he just had to lean up and get his mouth on that, to run his tongue over richly sweaty skin, to hear that startled, pleased "Nnf" sound again... without thinking about it Simon wrapped both arms around Jeremy's waist and pulled him down.

      Jeremy's knees slid out from underneath him. He landed on Simon like an avalanche, the strange scent of him all around, his cock like a branding iron against Simon's chest—it was pretty great, except that now Simon was in imminent danger of suffocating on Jeremy's stomach, which would admittedly be a hell of a way to go. Simon let go and thumped Jeremy's hip, and Jeremy got one knee under himself again, lifting himself back up a lifesaving inch or two. No longer in imminent danger, Simon craned up to run his tongue over the muscles of Jeremy's stomach while Jeremy shivered and purred and rooted about in the drawer.

      Eventually the clattering stopped. Jeremy dragged himself back down without bothering to pull away, which meant that Simon got to run his tongue all the way up, drawing a wetter line over already-damp skin; he wound up with a mouthful of Jeremy's shoulder and yet another double handful of his ass, their cocks rubbing together for a single heart-stopping moment, and it was with real, perceptible reluctance that Jeremy pulled himself away to sit upright astraddle Simon's thighs. The bottle peeked out from between his fingers. The little red square of the condom dangled rakishly from Jeremy's crooked little grin, the corner of the wrapper caught in his teeth—Simon relaxed a little, thankful that they weren't going to have to stop and hash that particular issue out. Jeremy dropped the bottle by Simon's hip and caught the condom in one hand, ripping the wrapper open with a jerk of his head. "Gimme," Simon said hoarsely, waggling his fingers in Jeremy's face.

      "Whatever for?" said Jeremy, fishing out the little latex circle and tossing the wrapper somewhere. "Don't you want to see a magic trick?"

      Simon started to say "A magic what?"—he really did—but he barely got out the first syllable before Jeremy's hand passed over his face and the condom vanished, like, well, magic. Simon barely had a chance to realize what was about to happen before it did: Jeremy ducked down, his spine arching like a cat's, and sucked Simon's cock into his mouth. Somewhere in the middle of all that tremendous pressure there was unrolling latex, but Simon barely noticed—instead he barked out a startled breath and bucked up into Jeremy's mouth, managing to fit himself most of the rest of the way into the supposedly-magical condom. Jeremy's fingers took it down the last inch or so, pressing the base of the condom against Simon's groin, and his head pulled back to reveal his handiwork, still wet—"Christ almighty," Simon groaned, forcing himself to relax again.

      "Ta da," Jeremy said dryly, wiping the back of his free hand over his mouth. "And might I add that I appreciate your buying the unlubricated kind?"

      "Jesus, I think I appreciate it too, why did you stop?"

      "Oh, well, since you put it that way—" and Jeremy's mouth closed on him again.

      With the aid of the condom—and with mountains of marshaled self-control—Simon again managed not to come right then. He was starting to think he deserved some kind of award. A certificate or something. Jeremy apparently didn't want this to end right now either, because he was keeping things well throttled back, but every lazy pull of his mouth made Simon's cock try to rip right through the latex and bull down the back of Jeremy's throat. Some other time, Simon thought again, his thought processes even more muddled than before. He grabbed Jeremy's shoulder. "Wh," Simon croaked, and then coughed. "Whoa! Whoa."

      Jeremy pulled back one last time—Jesus—and let go, running his tongue over his lips, suddenly a bit redder than they'd been. "Probably wise," he said, a little hoarse now.

      Simon caught hold of himself with a vehemence that was almost physical and remembered how to breathe again. "Yeah," he said, groping about by his hip and coming up with the bottle. Jeremy took it from him, his fingers tangling with Simon's for a brief moment. Popping up the little lid Jeremy squeezed a dollop of the stuff into his palm and Simon watched him do it, his fingers playing absently over Jeremy's hips. "You realize I'm probably going to rip you in half, after that little trick," Simon said. Was his voice shaking? His voice was absolutely shaking. He figured he had a good excuse, though.

      "I'd like to see you try," said Jeremy, dropping the bottle and rubbing his hands together. Both hands flashed down.

      Simon bit his lower lip, hard. "Hey, thanks for putting it—" Jeremy twisted the palm of his hand hard over the head of Simon's cock, and Simon paused to cough out a breath "—putting it that way, now I won't feel bad when I do it."

      Jeremy's hands fell to Simon's stomach, leaving a pair of slick handprints behind. "I doubt you would have in any case," said Jeremy, his slitted eyes gleaming, his little grin twisting on his face.

      Simon caught both of Jeremy's upper arms and hauled him forward. "Ohhh-kay, enough with the double-dog-dare stuff, Jesus, get up here already," he said.

      Rolling forward against the pull with a weird and boneless grace, Jeremy somehow managed to slip from sitting astride Simon's thighs to kneeling astride his waist without actually passing through the stages in between. He rose up onto his knees and reached up to... run his fingers through his disheveled hair, actually, which was so goddamned Jeremy of him that Simon was forced to grab hold of Jeremy's cock just to make him stop. Even that didn't work so well. Jeremy shut his eyes and bared his teeth and rolled his hips forward, his cock pushing into Simon's grip, his hands still locked together behind his head, and while it was absolutely goddamned wonderful to look at, it wasn't getting Simon laid. Simon squeezed Jeremy's cock, once, and then let go. "You want more, earn it," he said—for some reason it struck him as the funniest thing in the world to be saying, and he nearly choked trying to bite back his laugh.

      Jeremy eyed Simon from under his lashes, probably entirely aware of what the choking sound had been (and given how that little grin wasn't going away, probably having the same damn problem). "Give a man a hand?" he asked.

      "... what did I just say, Archer?"

      Rolling his eyes (and still wearing that twisted little smile) Jeremy grabbed one of Simon's hands and pushed it down between his thighs—Simon, not being entirely stupid, caught on at once. Grabbing hold of himself Simon steadied his cock, pushing it upright and into place—he swiped his other hand over the mess on his stomach and went looking for the right place to put it, newly-slick fingers slipping back behind Jeremy's balls. He knew when he found it more by the sound that Jeremy made than anything else—Christ, that sound—and then just... brought one hand to the other. It was that easy.

      Why was it that easy? It was never that easy, it shouldn't have been that easy, and Simon thought he ought to know—it was obviously Jeremy's doing, that ease, but something about bringing one hand to the other also drove Simon's cock into Jeremy and Simon was completely unable to think about logistics right now. Or anything else. He yanked his hands away and grabbed Jeremy's widespread thighs and jammed Jeremy the rest of the way down and Jeremy didn't even fight it, just let it happen, probably even helped it happen, and whatever choked noise Jeremy had made, it got lost under Simon's roar—Simon gave Jeremy (and himself) exactly the space of one gasping breath to adjust, and then his hands clamped onto Jeremy's hips again and Simon braced himself as best he could and went to town.

      Simon's eyes fought to close and he fought to not let it happen, watching Jeremy through his slitted eyes as he pounded up into him. For all that there was suddenly a hell of a lot going on underneath him, Jeremy was almost still and weirdly calm. He leaned back and let his head fall back, surging forward a bare inch or so every time he absorbed one of Simon's thrusts and then settling back again—one arm curled over his chest and his other hand fell to his cock, not really stroking yet, just sort of... messing around, and Simon wanted to get in on that action but he was out of hands—he was also entirely failing to actually rip Jeremy in half, which was probably a good thing, all things considered. "Hey," he said, his voice gravelly.

      Jeremy's head lifted, his eyes slitting open. "Mmm?" he said, the low purr of it quivering in the middle as Simon slammed up into him again.

      "Go on, damn it," Simon rasped.

      There was that little flash of smile again, and then Jeremy jerked his hips forward as Simon drove upwards and things all over everywhere went tight in a big goddamned hurry and something nearly popped in Simon's brain—it hadn't been what he'd meant but somewhere in the middle of all the shouting he'd forgotten to care—by the time Simon noticed that Jeremy had gotten around to jerking himself off in earnest, he... well, okay, he did care, actually. He cared about that a lot. He wasn't going to stop and gawk, or even slow down and gawk, but he was definitely going to watch, and he did that. He did a lot of that. The urge to get his hands on that just about redoubled, but Simon couldn't stand to let go of Jeremy's hips and risk slowing anything down.

      Not that that seemed likely in any case. At some point when Simon hadn't been paying attention he'd entirely lost control of this thing. There wasn't any finesse any more, at least, not on his end. Jeremy hadn't said a word since Simon had first driven into him, but suddenly he was wholly on the move, and every last sweat-soaked naked grinding fucking inch of him kept demanding more. Simon wasn't sure he had any more to give, which was just about the greatest feeling on earth—he was accustomed to having to hold himself back, for Christ's sake—and still Jeremy was greedy for it, not only able to take this kind of battering but wanting to, needing to—Simon could dimly hear himself grunting with the effort every time he bucked upwards. Jeremy was making these breathy little nnf, nnf, nnf sounds that managed to sound like begging and gasping combined, and every second or third stroke he threw in this crazy, rapid back-and-forth shimmy of his hips which drove Simon into him halfway to his goddamned throat—

      Christ, Simon had never had it so good, never needed it so bad, never been able to forget himself like this, never met anyone able to take it so hard... "I," Simon croaked, the knot of tension in his gut so tight that it hurt, so huge that it was clutching at his heart, and it was still expanding, still spiralling upwards, Jeremy still dragging him towards some kind of crazy once-in-a-lifetime peak that threatened Simon's consciousness and sanity both. Simon strained to convey something before this lunacy killed him stone dead, although he was no longer sure exactly what he was trying to say. "I," he wheezed again. "I, I, I, oh Jesus" and the world exploded, taking Simon with it.

      By the time Simon had recovered enough to realize what a stupid, stupid metaphor that was, Jeremy was also slowing to a stop, his shoulders shaking. The quivering hand fisted around the head of his cock was dripping with come, and there was a hot little pool of the stuff on Simon's stomach. Simon swallowed, once, then again. "Shit," he said, his voice an unlovely froggy croak. "All that and I missed it?"

      It wrung a snort of laughter from Jeremy, as drained as he was. His own voice had roughened to a pleasant growl. "I assure you, Simon: you were there."

      "Guess so," Simon said, still breathing hard. Christ, he was wrecked. He shut his eyes, trying to catch hold of himself—not even the shuddery, fluttering sensation of his cock sliding free of Jeremy could make him open them again. Jeremy dealt with the condom (setting off another slow roll of tired shivering in Simon's belly) and did something to get rid of it. Simon didn't check what, didn't even open his eyes, just groped around until he found a pillow—on the floor, as somehow in the midst of all that thrashing they'd managed to shove all the covers off the bed, which didn't surprise him at all. Once he had the pillow under his head, he started to believe he might recover from this after all. Eventually.

      Jeremy wobbled on his knees for a moment or two longer, then gave in with a sigh and collapsed onto Simon with reasonable grace. Automatically Simon put his arms around Jeremy, even though doing so blasted him with the steam of a really good sweat—when he couldn't take it any longer he let his hands fall away, sprawling out in the ruin of his bed and staring in confused exhaustion up at the ceiling. Jeremy was breathing against the side of his throat, just another little waft of wet heat in the midst of the sauna. It was weirdly nice. No, face it, it was awesome. It was all awesome, except for the fact that it was never going to happen again. Simon had never hated the words 'while we can' more in his entire life. The good-humored hysteria of earlier was long gone; he wasn't really finding this 'single moment of madness' stuff funny any more.

      "Mm," Jeremy eventually said. Simon said nothing, already deep in furious calculation, and after a moment Jeremy stopped waiting for an answer.


Boy, Simon is a wholly different person when the sex comes with no associated baggage—look at that, he expresses appreciation of things and everything! Everything was pretty much fine between them at this point, so the sex came with no drama, no entanglements, no awkward feelings... things won't be this easy between them again until after High Fidelity. Two years, three books, and a lot of water under the bridge just to get back to where they started. Yeesh.

Giggly sex is fun to write, if perhaps not the most intense thing to read.