Shadow of the Templar: Simon Says
On timeline: at some point post-Morning Star
This was an attempt to mimic the style of a bad but effective 70s-era sex thriller that I was reading at the time. As a mimickry of that book's style, it's pretty good. By itself, it's a whole bunch of bad cheese, and much more overstylized than SotT usually gets. But, well, I am a completist, so here it is, archived for posterity. I must admit that even in the midst of all that wordfuckery, Simon and Jeremy somehow managed to remain Simon and Jeremy. I'm always pleased when that happens.
And if you thought I was going to let Shadow of the Templar get away without doing a 'Simon Says' joke...
Angel's mouth; devil's hands. Small succulent nipping kisses that tug gently at Simon's lower lip; clever nimble fingers that slide down his cock before curling like a cage about his balls. Bare chest slick with sweat where it touches Simon's. Leg wound about his like a rope.
Simon winds his fingers in that perfect hair. Pulls Jeremy's head up, away from him. Angel's mouth abandoned, lips red and wet, slightly parted. A flicker of tongue over the lower one. "Blow me," Simon says. Watches the angel's mouth stretch into a lazy smile and fall from grace.
Simon says blow me, he can't help but think. Jeremy slides down, slithering bonelessly into the space between his thighs like a snake. Simon says. Code words. Jeremy's mouth closes on him. Molten. Melting. The thought skitters away.
Hand on the base of his cock. Hand on his balls. Mouthlips and tongue and teethworking the rest, on his cock, on the inside of his thighs, on the tender part of his belly, on his cock again. Flicker of hooded eyes that meet his for a single melting moment before drifting closed.
Brown eyes. Dark brown. So full of shit your eyes are brown, Simon thinks. Stray thought bubbling to the surface of his currently unattended mind and sinking again.
Closing his eyes he goes away. Without governance his hips are free to rise into every pull of Jeremy's mouth. Instinctively seeking the heat of it. Muscles tightening with every thrust. When it ends too soon he does not bite down on his tongue quickly enough to stifle the groan.
Opening his eyes. Looking down. Jeremy's cheek pressed to his cock, Jeremy's fingers in his own mouth, Jeremy's fingers glistening wet. Closing his eyes again and sighing permission, legs parting further.
Fingers in him now, two. Palm of that hand pressed hard against his balls. Mouth on his cock again. Fingers pumping. Tips pressing upwards. A jolt up his spine with each stroke. Blood rushing to the surface of his cock. Drawn there. Drawn
Stifles the groan this time, comes into Jeremy's mouth. White rush that annihilates thought. Sweat bursting onto his skin.
Comes to. Opens his eyes. Looks up at Jeremy, those fallen angel's lips red. Wonders if Jeremy's eyes are actually a shade paler now. Shot of white mixed in.
Simon says it doesn't matter.