Charlie keeps kissing him, his mouth warm and slow on Simon’s neck, his hips rolling against Simon’s, his touch just a little too light, like he’s being careful. It’s exactly what Simon wants, and it’s only a complete inability to be normal that makes him speak. “But what do you want?” Simon asks, his voice sounding far away. “We didn’t talk about that.”
“Oh my God,” Charlie whispers into Simon’s skin. “Can you get out of your own way for two seconds?”
“Probably not,” Simon says, honest.
“Baby, what I really want is to see what happens when I give you what you want.”
It’s not the first time anyone’s called Simonbaby. It is, however, the first time it doesn’t make him want to get dressed and go home. Usually, that sort of thing—sweetheart, baby, darling—makes Simon think he’s dealing with a case of mistaken identity. Like they’ve forgotten who they have in their bed because Simon is just not the kind of person who inspiresbaby. He doesn’t like being lied to.
But when Charlie says it, there’s a bit of a tease, like he knows perfectly well that Simon’s about to riot and is daring him to try. It’s also undeniablynice, like Charlie’s following orders while also being impossible. Simon buries his face in the pillow and groans.
Charlie’s kissing the back of Simon’s jaw, the curve of his shoulder, the spot behind his ear. He can feel Charlie, hard, pressing into the small of his back. He can feel Charlie’s weight, and it sends a jolt of desire down his spine.
“What the fuck,” he mumbles into the pillow. He keeps his face there, pretending he’s invisible, and lets his universe collapse into the feel of Charlie’s fingers, Charlie’s mouth on Simon’s spine.
Charlie doesn’t make him roll over, just pushes him onto his side a little and gets a hand behind one of his knees. The intimacy of that—Charlie’s hand on the back of his knee—is startling, somehow, despite everywhere else he’s touched Simon tonight.
Simon moves where Charlie puts him, and if this is the most compliant Simon’s been in his life, then that’s just a coincidence. Nothing to do with Charlie, nothing to do withthat’s it, baby, just like that, so good.Simon asked for nice, but he didn’t count on nice being weaponized.
And it is nice, it starts out really fucking sweet, and Simon’s absolutely still hiding his face in that pillow, but he also flings a hand out, and Charlie grabs it, holding it to the mattress. It starts out nice, and maybe it even stays that way when Simon’s on his knees, holding on to the headboard, his thoughts dissolving in the onslaught ofso good, look at you.
After, he collapses, boneless, brainless. That was too intense. It wastender, which isn’t even something Simon does. It shouldn’t have been like that—it should have been fun. Yesterday was fun. He’ll be embarrassed about it tomorrow. But they’re leaving tomorrow, which is just as well.
Right now, though, Charlie’s next to him, motionless, one heavy arm flung over Simon’s back. It’s not cuddling. It’s one arm. And it’s only there because that’s where it landed.
Simon opens his eyes, takes in Charlie’s profile. The only light is whatever’s leaking in from the motel parking lot, around the edges of the curtains, but it’s enough to make out the shape of the tattoos on Charlie’s arm and chest, the one on the top of his thigh. He can see the flower on Charlie’s chest. On the arm that doesn’t have the swirl of stars, there are the two moons and a bird in flight that’s the symbol of the rebel group onOut There. Lian locked herself in her office the day Charlie showed up with that one. Scattered up and down his left forearm are what look like stick-and-poke tattoos—vines, mountains, a wonky-looking lizard. Since they’re all on his left arm, Simon guesses Charlie did them himself.
Simon’s seen them all, even the tattoo high on Charlie’s thigh, dozens of times, could map them out blindfolded. It feels a little dangerous, knowing that the map of Charlie’s body has gotten into his mind without his wanting it, knowing that Charlie has tangled himself around Simon’s psyche. It makes him wonder, for the first time, how hard it will be to cut himself free.
Interstitial
From anOut Therefan Discord
DeathStarJacuzzi:Obviously we’ve all seen the video, but in case you didn’t notice, that’s a Tom Ford shirt Simon Devereaux’s wearing at a taqueria in suburban Phoenix and—don’t quote me on this—but I think those are Celine aviators tucked into his collar. It’s killing me that his shoes are out of frame.
GalactoseIntolerance:Meanwhile, Charlie Blake, bless his heart, is wearing a t-shirt that looks like it used to say UCLA Women’s Sports and has a hole in the armpit
SimonDevereauxsCheekbones: No offense but I give zero fucks about what they’re wearing. I desperately need a reality check. After writing approximately a million words of fanfic about these guys my case of brain rot is too far advanced to tell if I’m picking up on a vibe or just hallucinating it as per usual
GalactoseIntolerance:def a vibe
HowlsMovingSpaceship:we can stop speculating on the private lives of actual people ANY TIME y’all
SupervillainApologist:No, sorry, I love you all but you’re missing the point, which is that I think this is the first documented instance of Simon Devereaux laughing in public
GalactoseIntolerance:this is, in fact, exhibit A in re: The Vibe
SupervillainApologist:and, like, sure. I know they’re actors, it is literally their job to convey emotions with their faces or whatever, but I’ve seen every episode of Out There an unhealthy number of times and also I’ve watched red carpet footage like it’s the fucking Zapruder film and I have NEVER seen Simon Devereaux look that happy
SpacePope:Is nobody going to talk about Charlie Blake’s BEARD? Explain yourselves.
Chapter Fourteen
In the morning, Simon wakes with the familiar sense that his brain is the wrong size for his skull, and like his skeleton has been taken apart and put back together with a few pieces forgotten along the way. It’s been nearly a month since his last migraine—a personal best—but his luck was bound to run out. He has maybe an hour before things get bad. The smart thing to do would be to take his medicine and get on the road as soon as possible.
He can do that as soon as Charlie stops kissing the back of his neck. The problem is that Simon doesn’t want to tell Charlie to stop. He’s torn between the desire to go along with whatever Charlie has in mind and the need to get home as soon as possible.
Before he has to make a decision, his phone rings. With an actual telephone call. He takes it off the nightstand to see who’s calling.
