28
Simon
The bathroom door shut. Clicked. Latched. Simon jiggled the handle, testing it, and when he was satisfied it wouldn't open, he turned his attention to Harlow.
Or at least, he tried.
Harlow's arms locked around him from behind, his hands sliding from Simon's sides to cup his hardened bulge. Simon bit back a moan and pushed his hips forward, seeking pleasure from Harlow's hands.
Broad. Strong. Calloused.
Harlow was everything like Simon's dream, but no dream had ever excited him as much as Harlow did in person.
“I… I need to…” Harlow's grip tightened, and Simon forgot what he was about to say. He sacrificed the rest of his breath to a moan, keeping it quiet enough that Jayne wouldn't hear through the walls, but loud enough that Harlow could enjoy it. “Mmph, fuck, squeeze me. Can't believe how good you feel.”
Hands like Harlow’s were dangerous—capable of breaking bone and ending life. But hands like his were also capable of docility. They'd reached out to reassure Simon when he was in need of sympathy, they’d soothed Parker following trauma, and now they delivered pleasure like Simon had never felt before.
It was different to be touched by another person. Startling. Unpredictable. Every new pass of Harlow’s hand made Simon think nothing could feel better. Every time, he was wrong. With mumbled words and brief, ravenous kisses to the crook of his neck, Harlow squeezed and caressed, sending him higher, and in return, Simon made the tiniest moans for him and pushed into his hand, asking for more.
Harlow delivered.
While Harlow continued to touch and tease, his free hand slipped beneath Simon’s oversized shirt, discovering the soft, taut skin of Simon’s belly. Simon crooned for him, light little sounds that suited how Harlow made him feel without alerting the whole house to what they were doing. Simon wanted nothing more than to gasp, to pant, and to run himself ragged, but it wasn't a possibility—not if he wanted this to happen again.
Would it happen again?
Harlow's teeth grazed his shoulder. He chuckled darkly and tightened his hand.
Simon hoped it would. He didn't want this to end.
Harlow lifted his shirt, exposing Simon’s skin inch by inch, until at last Simon raised his arms and allowed Harlow to strip him of it. In the reflection of the bathroom mirror, he saw himself—slender, slight, and glowing with arousal. Harlow nuzzled against his neck, eyes closed, and Simon had to look away. It was one thing to know that Harlow was enjoying himself, but to see it on his face? It brought Simon close to coming.
A man—a grown, accomplished man—wanted him.
Wanted to take him. Seed him.
Heart racing, cock throbbing in time, Simon set his sights on the faded stickers on the corner of the mirror. A relic of days past. A nod to memories already made, and a promise that one day, these times would be memories as well.
Simon’s shirt hit the floor, and Harlow's hands changed direction. His fingers toyed with the elastic band of Simon's boxer-briefs, lifting them from his hips to caress the skin beneath. While his palm had been fantastic, nothing compared to the sly way Harlow's fingers crept over skin no one had touched before. Harlow would be his first, just like Simon had always wanted—the fantasy had come to life. And as Harlow’s hand dipped lower, his fingertips tracing the coarse hair at the base of Simon’s shaft, Simon knew there was no way he’d wake up from this dream now.
“Look what I've found.” Harlow’s voice was dark with arousal, dominant in a way it seldom was. A jolt rocketed through Simon's groin, and he squirmed, eager for more. “I wonder what would happen if…”
Harlow’s hand encircled Simon’s shaft, then pumped, and pumped again. Simon gasped and strained, trying to find a rhythm that would let him push into Harlow’s hand at the perfect moment, but his brain was fried and his timing was off. Quivering, he jerked and thrust, trying to make the most of the pleasure he was given. The years he’d spent in bed with fantasy-Harlow, touching himself while he imagined what it would be like to be together, were wasted. Nothing could have prepared him for this. Harlow’s touch consumed him, narrowing his mind to a crushing singularity.
More. More.More.
“You shouldn't feel so good,” Harlow uttered. His hand stroked, exploring the length of Simon's cock. “I can't wait to see it come for me. Can't wait to taste it.”
Simon whimpered. He hadn't meant to, but it came out all the same. In the mirror, he spotted Harlow, his broad, muscular frame in stark contrast to Simon's petite figure, his eyes partially lidded with lust.
Was this real life? It didn't feel like it. Simon had never thought he'd have the courage to make a move, and yet…
Harlow's hand passed down his length, his thumb brushing over the sensitive skin of Simon's tip. Precum smeared. The wetness was only temporary, but it brought Simon's mind back to what he needed: lube.
“F-Fuck, H…” With a trembling hand, Simon reached for the medicine cabinet. Jayne kept it well-stocked, and not only with medical supplies. Next to sterile gauze and suture needles were an untouched bottle of lube and an open box of condoms. With three sexually mature men sharing the same roof, it was always a good idea to have extras on hand.
Simon wasted no time in grabbing the lube, but his hand stopped on its way to the condoms. The thought of covering Harlow up in latex, keeping their skin apart, didn't feel right. Condoms weren't a part of the fantasy, but they were an inextricable part of real life. Simon wasn’t anywhere near his heat, but there were other reasons to use protection. Jayne had drilled the importance of safety into his head.
But with Harlow, did it matter?
