47
Harlow
After a long evening spent filing police reports and supervising Shep while he surrendered evidence, Harlow returned to the apartments of 2769 Trefore Avenue to find the house was already quiet, and Simon was already in bed. Time had marched on without him—tomorrow drew near, and with it, his rebooked flight to Los Angeles.
“I’m gonna go unwind in my bedroom,” Shep said in hushed tones near the door. “Today was kind of wild. Thanks for, uh, you know, being there for me.”
“I should be the one saying that to you,” Harlow replied.
Shep shook his head. “Nah. I mean, who would have taken me seriously at that police station if I’d showed up on my own? Spoiler alert: no one. You helped bring the doucher who tried to hurt my brother down, and that was cool of you, I guess. I know that we didn’t really like each other when you first got here, but… I’m glad that you showed up. And, uh, all the really raunchy stuff I have recorded on my hard drive with you and Simon? You don’t have to worry about it. It’s all gone.”
Harlow’s temple twitched. Sothatwas how Evie had found out about him and Simon. Puppy-dog eyes weren’t the only confirmation she’d had—it seemed like Shep had hidden security devices in and around the apartment. Smart, but worrisome. If the kid was that concerned with his security, something fishy had to be going on. Regardless, Harlow was glad that his caution had paid off. While Justin was a minor, and likely wouldn’t be as heavily penalized as he would be had he committed such vile acts as an adult, there would still be repercussions—the most satisfying of which was the restraining order Evie would be filing against him. His obsessive outburst was more than enough to warrant it.
It was going to make the next season ofHeaven, Lockedinteresting—of that, Harlow was sure.
“Anyway, I’m off. Goodnight.” Shep bumped Harlow’s shoulder gently with his fist, then headed down the hall to his room. Harlow wished it back to him, headed to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash up, then retired to the living room. He flicked off the hall light as he did, plunging the apartment in darkness.
“Hey,” Simon said softly from the air mattress. “Did… did everything go okay today?”
As he’d gotten into the habit of doing, Harlow stripped down to his boxers, then settled on the air mattress at Simon’s side. “Everything went fine.”
“Shep was texting me about what was going on,” Simon admitted. “That… that was really kind of you to do. You didn’t have to do it.”
Harlow drew Simon into his arms. “I didn’t have to do it?”
“No. I mean, it was… it was me who was thrown down the stairwell, right? You could have let it drop if you wanted to.”
“Simon…” Harlow closed his eyes. He nuzzled close and found Simon’s cheek by feel, leaving a gentle kiss upon it. “Do you know the things I’d do for you? The lengths I’d go to in order to make sure that you’re safe? That you’re happy?”
No response. Harlow smiled to mask the pain of despondency.
“I couldn’t let what happened today go, even if it would have been easier. You mean more to me than that. I don’t care how many times I need to say it—you areworththe effort, no matter what you think of yourself.”
Simon hummed, then shuffled closer to Harlow’s body. His chest was bare—they’d given up on any semblance of modesty while together early in the week—and Harlow delighted in tracing his hands over Simon’s body, savoring the feel of his skin and the minuscule swell of his nipples. Absentmindedly, he ran his thumb over one. It hardened for him.
“My only regret about today,” Harlow murmured, speaking against Simon’s cheek, “apart from the ordeal you went through, is that I didn’t get to spend more time with you to help you come down after what happened. I’m sorry.”
“It’s… it’s okay.” Arousal crept into Simon’s voice. He tilted his head back, and Harlow nosed his way beneath his jaw to kiss his neck. How sad it was that they’d leave having exchanged so few kisses—that Harlow hadn’t been able to tug him close and kiss him with abandon, like he wanted to. The next time they met, he’d make up for it. He’d kiss Simon ragged, plump his lips and stain them red from the ferocity of their passion. Melancholy struck all at once, and Harlow couldn’t hold it back.
“I’m going to miss you so damn much.” Harlow’s voice caught in his throat. “When can I see you next? Production begins in July and runs through until the end of March, but we have holidays. The soonest one is Labor Day. Can I see you then?”
“Yes.” Simon’s hand found his and kept it on his nipple. He didn’t need to say anything more—Harlow continued to rub.
“Then Thanksgiving.” Harlow’s teeth closed on the skin of Simon’s neck, but didn’t tug. The tiny bite wasn’t painful—it was claiming. As brief as it was, it made a statement, and when Simon shivered in response to it, Harlow knew he’d understood. “We have the entire fourth week of November off. You can stay with me for a week. Would that be okay?”
“I… I don’t know. It depends on Jayne. But I want to try.”
It was good enough for now. Content, Harlow kissed him, then moved lower, exploring the dip of Simon’s shoulder, then the soft skin leading to his flat pectoral.
“Christmas,” Harlow named, skimming over the production calendar in his mind. He found the nipple he’d teased to hardness and nudged their hands out of the way, running his tongue along it instead. Simon sucked in a breath and lifted his body from the air mattress. “We have two, sometimes three weeks off. Spend it with me… be my Christmas gift and the happiest thing about my New Year.”
Simon moaned. Harlow sucked his nipple into his mouth, and that moan repeated itself, more intense the second time. Harlow’s tongue and lips worked in tandem, teasing more decadent sounds from Simon that drove him crazy. Then, wanting more, but knowing it was time to move on, Harlow parted from his nipple and kissed his way down Simon’s stomach to his navel. “Easter.”
“Does it… does it fall… in March next year?” Simon asked breathlessly.
“I don’t know,” Harlow admitted as he made it to the elastic line of Simon’s boxer-briefs. He slid his fingers beneath them, teasing them down inch by inch, highly aware of the way the material snagged on Simon’s stiffened cock. “But if it does, I want you there. If it doesn’t, I want you there, too. And any random Saturday, or Sunday, or other day of the week.” The elastic of Simon’s boxer-briefs passed the tip of his cock, and Harlow continued to guide it down his shaft. While he did, he let his tongue explore Simon’s tip. With a swirl of his tongue, he encircled Simon’s crown, then said, “Night or day. Spring, summer, winter, or fall. On the road, or while at home. Holiday or not…”
Simon made a tiny noise, delicate and sinful. Harlow replied by taking the head of his cock between his lips, pushing forward at a crawl until Simon had penetrated his mouth. There were memories still left to be forged, parts of Simon he’d yet to conquer. Harlow didn’t want to leave, but since he had no choice, he had to make sure that he left with as few regrets as possible. If it took him all night, he’d help Simon see that he was valued—that he was wanted. He’d prove it through his actions as well as his words. He’d make sure Simon understood.
