Chapter Text
Nothing was easy. It never was. But this week? It had come from the devil himself.
The lights of Dicker’s office were bright and hummed with an agonizing persistence that vibrated right through Jack’s skull. Saying it had been a long week was an understatement. It felt more like an entire three months that had been compressed into seven days.
To start it all off, this week was finals week. For the past three weeks he’d been so nose deep in his textbooks he couldn’t tell you what day it was if you asked. But finals week wasn’t all that bad– as long as you weren’t stupid enough to double major in physics and chemistry. Unfortunately, Jack had. And it was that decision that was now coming back to bite him in the ass.
He took his fluid mechanics and biochem final this morning. Both of them. Two hours within each other. And he was fairly sure he probably failed one of them, but so had the rest of the senior class. He swore, the professor had better curve that exam. He wanted to retain his GPA bragging rights since it improved his chances of waking up with one of the sorority dames in his bed. Usually under the guise of helping them with their course work. But damn, he hadn’t even had a chance to get laid in the past three weeks and he was borderlining a manic episode.
But it didn’t end there.
The last three weeks had him surviving on a rotation of granola bars, chips and instant noodles. Sleep had become a foreign concept. In fact, he was lucky enough to get a 30 minute nap in between hours upon hours of studying. He practically lived at the library on campus.
All that, plus showing up to work at the NSA was enough to send anyone over the edge. And of course, it had been just his luck to be sent out solo to handle a villain that The Phantasmics had failed to nab. At first this wasn't a problem, he’d had the fucker cornered, but the NSA’s intel had been catastrophically incomplete. The villain wasn’t alone. It had turned into a 3 v 1 in a matter of seconds– which wouldn’t have been a problem if he hadn’t been so exhausted. But alas, his reaction time had been just a fraction too slow and somehow along the way they had gotten the best of him. The end result was a collapsed building and the villains successfully getting away. Just to add insult to injury, Jack had a fresh set of bruises forming around his ribs.
Now, he sat in the silence of Dicker's office filled only by the muffled, rhythmic thumping of Ricks voice. Jack sat in the chair, staring blankly at a spot on the carpet, his mind drifting in and out of consciousness. He wasn’t actually listening to the words anymore. He was just vaguely aware of Dicker’s silhouette through the haze of his fatigue. Rick was waving his arms in a display of exasperation, his head shaking in disappointment. Jack knew he was getting his ass chewed out, but the weight of the week was so heavy he stopped caring.
"--and frankly, Jack, you're a liability like this," Dicker’s voice finally broke through the mental static. Rick slammed a folder onto the desk, the sound echoing. "Go home. That's an order. And don't let me see your face until Monday."
Jack didn't argue. He didn't even offer a sarcastic salute. He just stood up, and walked out.
When he finally pushed the glass doors and made it outside, the night air slapped him in the face. It was cold and damp thanks to the winter air. It smelled like exhaust and snow-slicked pavement. Most people would have felt relief, but Jack felt a jagged vibration under his skin. It was that dangerous, twitchy territory where exhaustion stopped being heavy and started being loud.
His heart was hammering against his bruised ribs with an erratic rhythm. He felt impulsive, untethered, like he could either collapse where he stood or punch a hole through a brick wall just to feel something. Every sound in the distance sounded like a personal insult, every headlight on the road was a needle in his eyes. He felt like a live wire looking for a puddle, vibrating with the kind of manic energy that usually preceded a spectacular crashout.
The streetlights were blurring into long, jagged streaks of gold. Jack’s vision was swimming, his skin humming with that dangerous feeling that came when he’d pushed past his limits and kept going anyway. He was a ticking bomb. He just needed to hit something. He needed to break something – himself, a wall, the very air – it didn’t matter. Just something to make the buzzing stop.
"Jack?"
The voice came from directly behind him, cutting through the static in his brain. Jack didn’t think. Didn’t check. Didn’t breathe. Just snapped. Every ounce of his exhausted, misplaced rage coiled into his fist and exploded as he spun, throwing a desperate, heavy-handed punch at the shadow looming in his space.
But the hit never landed.
A hand clamped around his wrist with the speed of a closing trap. It wasn’t a block. It was a redirection. Simon didn’t even look surprised. His reflexes were purely instinctive. He stepped to Jack’s side, twisting his hips and guiding the momentum of the swing. Jack’s feet tangled, his center of gravity vanishing as he pitched forward into the empty air.
Before his face could meet the sidewalk, Simon’s other arm hooked under his chest, catching him with a grunt. "Whoa, easy! It’s me, Jack. It’s Simon."
But Jack was gone. The touch was the final catalyst. He exploded in Simon’s arms, a chaotic blur of elbows and knees, snarling like a cornered animal. He thrashed with a strength fueled by pure adrenaline and sleep-deprived psychosis, trying to tear himself free, trying to find a target for the venom boiling in his blood.
"Let me go! Get the fuck off me!" Jack roared, his voice cracking.
Simon tried to hold him loosely at first, murmuring something low and calming, but Jack wasn’t having it. When a stray elbow clipped Simon’s jaw, the patience in Simon’s eyes shifted to grim necessity. In one fluid, practiced motion, Simon swept Jack’s legs and drove him down, pinning him chest-first against the pavement. He grabbed his wrists and hiked Jack’s arms up behind his back, locking them in a reinforced hold that utilized every pound of his superior weight.
"Stop, Jack! Relax!" Simon shouted over the noise.
Jack didn't relax. He bucked against the concrete, his face pressed into the grit. A stream of curses poured from his mouth– vicious, jagged threats directed at Simon, then at Dicker, then at the villains he’d lost, and finally at the world in general. He cursed the NSA, the finals, the physics department, and anyone who breathed. He began emitting radiation so hard Simon could feel it through his own boots. Thank god he was immune and the one who’d found him first.
Simon stared down at the back of Jack’s head, his expression tightening with genuine concern. He’d seen Jack angry before, seen him frustrated, but this was different. This was the sound of a man coming apart at the structural level.
For minutes, the only sound in front of the NSA building was the scraping of Jack’s boots against the asphalt and his ragged, screaming rage. Then, slowly, the fight began to leak out of him. The thrashed movements turned into tremors. The threats turned into breathless, stuttered curses that eventually died in his throat.
Finally, Jack went slack. His forehead dropped against the cool pavement, his body yielding to the overwhelming weight of Simon’s hold and the crushing gravity of his own exhaustion. He just lay there, pinned and broken, his lungs heaving in great, shuddering gasps as the manic fire finally burned itself down to ash.
Simon didn’t let go immediately. He waited, feeling the frantic, pounding of Jack’s heart through the layers of the super suit, counting the seconds until the radiation stopped biting at the air. He began to ease the pressure, moving with the agonizing slowness of a man approaching a wounded animal. One wrist released. Then the other. He kept his hands hovering, palms open, ready to catch or pin him again if the fuse lit back up.
"Jack?" Simon’s voice was barely a murmur, thick with a caution. He leaned over, trying to catch a glimpse of hazel eyes behind the mess of blonde hair. "You with me? You okay?"
Jack didn’t move. He didn’t even lift his head. A muffled, wet sound hitched in his chest before the broken words scraped out against the pavement.
"...Fuck you."
It sounded exhausted. Pitiful even. It lacked the bite of his usual venom. Simon nodded slowly, the grim line of his mouth softening.
So that’s a no, he noted mentally.
Whatever had happened this week, it had reached inside and hollowed the kid out. Simon took a deep breath, the cold night air filling his lungs as he made a decision. He couldn’t leave him face-down on the pavement like this.
He reached down, sliding his large hands under Jack’s shoulders. He hoisted him upward, expecting a struggle, but Jack just let it happen. Simon noticed the blonde was frighteningly light. It was the weight of someone who hadn’t eaten a real meal in weeks. Simon kept a firm grip on his upper arms until he was sure Jack’s knees weren't going to buckle.
"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Simon asked, his eyes scanning for any sign of a limp or a fresh wince.
Jack finally looked at him, his pupils blown wide beneath the black mask on his eyes. A bitter, ugly laugh bubbled up in his throat. "Wouldn't care if you did," he spat. "At least I'd feel something besides this."
Simon went dead still. Every warning system in his head, the ones honed by years of combat and crisis management, started screaming. That wasn't just exhaustion. That was a warning sign. He tightened his grip slightly, forcing Jack to look at him. "Jack. Look at me. You’re saying you wouldn't care if I’d hurt you?"
Jack tore his arm away, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. "No," he snapped, the word sharp and jagged. He turned his back to Simon, his fingers trembling as he began to obsessively dust the concrete dust off his suit, his movements frantic as he tried to straighten his cape with a dignity that wasn’t there.
Simon watched him, silent and looming in the shadows of the NSA entrance. He saw the way Jack’s hands shook, the way he seemed to be vibrating even while standing still. The decision was made before he even consciously thought about it. Jack wasn't being left alone tonight. Not like this.
“I’m taking you home, Jack,” Simon said, his voice dropping an octave into a register that left no room for argument.
As Simon reached out, Jack recoiled, a ragged sound tearing from his throat. “Don’t touch me!” he hissed. His eyes flashing with a feral light. He looked like he was falling apart, his hands curled into trembling claws at his sides.
Simon didn’t flinch. Instead, he stepped forward, closing the distance until he was towering over the younger man. “Jack, enough,” he said, his tone stern, bordering on parental. “You can either walk to my car, or I can carry you there.”
The bluntness of it seemed to stun Jack into a momentary submission. He didn’t fight as Simon’s hand found his shoulder, though he remained stiff as a board. As Simon began directing him toward the parking garage, the floodgates finally opened. Jack just started mumbling, a stream of consciousness that sounded like a fever dream.
“The building... it just came down. It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. The intel was wrong, Simon. It was three of them. I had him, I had the fucker cornered, and then...” Jack’s head lolled slightly as they walked, his voice a dry rasp. “Fluid mechanics. I definitely failed. I couldn’t… but my brain... I’m not weak. I’m not. I just needed ten minutes. Everything could still be fixed if I just... if I just had a second to breathe.”
Simon didn’t interrupt. He didn’t judge. He just felt a cold, hollow ache growing in his chest. He listened to the inventory of Jack’s collapse, wondering when the last time was that the blonde had actually taken a break. The kid was running on fumes and radiation, and clearly, the tank had been empty for days.
They reached Simon’s black Cadillac. Simon opened the passenger door, and Jack finally went quiet, sliding into the seat with an eerie silence that was almost worse than the yelling. Simon circled the car and got into the driver’s seat, the ignition starting the engine with .
He let the silence settle for a heartbeat before speaking. “Jack. Where do you live?”
Jack was staring at the dashboard, his pupils still wide. “The apartments... off Grand and 9th,” he mumbled.
Simon nodded, shifting into gear. He began the journey toward the downtown sector of Metroville, the city lights streaking past them. The ride was quiet, the only sound the soft click of the turn signal and the hum of the heater. Jack remained pressed against the window, his breath fogging the glass as he stared absent-mindedly at the dark streets.
“Sorry.”
The word was so quiet Simon almost missed it. He was taken back, his hands tightening on the wheel. In all the years of knowing the arrogant, self-assured Gamma Jack, he’d never heard the man apologize for anything. Not even when it was clearly his fault.
“It’s okay, Jack,” Simon assured him, his voice softening. “ I’m just worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” Jack said, though the lie was so unconvincing it practically hung in the air between them. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the leather. “I just need to sleep. Or punch a wall. Maybe both.”
Simon let out a slight, tired chuckle. “The latter is exactly what I’m worried about.”
Simon found a parking lot nestled beside the towering apartment building. He pulled the Cadillac into a spot and killed the engine, the sudden silence feeling heavy. He turned in his seat to look at his passenger. Jack was a ghost, staring fixedly at the glove box with eyes that didn’t seem to see anything at all. He was too still, his silence vibrating with that brittle, dangerous energy Simon had witnessed outside the NSA.
Simon didn’t wait for Jack to move. He opened his door and stepped out into the biting night air, circling the hood with purposeful strides. When he opened the passenger door, Jack didn’t even flinch. Simon reached in, his hand finding Jack’s shoulder with a gentle but non-negotiable firmness.
“Come on, Jack. Let’s go,” Simon murmured.
With a touch of guidance, he managed to get the blonde out of the car. Jack moved like a robot, his body yielding to Simon’s direction without a word of protest. Simon kept a hand on the small of his back, letting Jack’s autopilot navigate them toward the entrance. Jack suddenly paused.
“We’re in our suits, Simon. I’ll fly us up.”
Jack didn’t wait for an answer. He moved with a sudden impulse, his hand finding Simon’s waist with a grip that was shockingly tight. Before Simon could process the motion, Jack’s body tensed, the familiar hum of his powers spiking. A rush of air filled Simon’s ears as he felt a gravity-defying surge. They ascended the seven stories in a matter of seconds. Simon had just enough time to adjust his center of gravity before Jack landed them down on the small concrete balcony jutting out from his loft. The landing wasn't soft. It was a rough, jarring stop that made Simon’s teeth rattle. Jack released him, already turning toward the glass sliding door. The door was heavy, and Jack fumbled the handle for a second, his fine motor skills failing him. He finally opened the door. Jack stepped through the gap and Simon followed him into the dark, silent space of the loft.
Jack turned on the lights. The loft flooded with a warm, amber glow that made Simon squint beneath his visor.
It wasn’t what Simon expected. Honestly, he wasn’t sure what he’d pictured– maybe something cold, industrial, and meticulous to match Jack’s sharp edges. But the space in front of him was something else. It felt lived in. There were plants tucked into corners and perched on bookshelves, their green leaves trailing toward the floor. Obviously a sign of consistent care.
A table in the corner near the kitchen was nearly buried under a mountain of open textbooks surrounded by a scattering of highlighter caps and pens.
A pile of dishes sat in the sink, the porcelain catching the light, and a few discarded jackets and shirts were strewn over the back of the leather couch and the chairs tucked into the corner.
It was the apartment of a student who was drowning, a space that held the remnants of the weeks Jack had spent neglecting himself. It was human. It was messy. And it made the persona of Gamma Jack seem out of place.
Simon didn’t give Jack a chance to wallow in the mess. He stepped further into the room, grabbing the dissociated blonde’s shoulders..
“You should shower. Now,” Simon commanded, with a tone that left no room for debate. He steered Jack toward the bathroom, his hand a steady weight on the small of the blonde’s back. Jack stumbled, but he didn’t resist. He was past the point of fighting. The adrenaline had finally melted into compliance.
Inside the bathroom, Jack froze. Simon reached past him to crank the handle to give a heated stream. Steam began to billow, clouding the mirror and softening the harsh edges of the tile. Simon didn’t leave. He stood there, watching with focused concern as Jack fumbled with his super suit. The younger man’s fingers were trembling so violently he couldn’t find the zipper.
With a quiet sigh, Simon decided to help. He didn't ask permission. He simply took over and began unzipping the reinforced fabric, his movements efficient and stripped of anything but necessity. He stripped the suit off ofJack, revealing the roadmap of purple and yellow bruises blooming across the blonde's ribs and shoulders. Jack just stood there, head hanging, his breath hitching in the humid air.
“In,” Simon said, guiding him into the spray. The water hit Jack’s skin and for a second, and he looked like he might actually break. He slumped against the tile, the heat soaking into his body.
But as Simon turned to leave, Jack’s hand shot out from the curtain, catching his wrist.
“Wait,” Jack rasped, his eyes peeking out from the shower curtain. “Join me. Please.”
Simon went still, a sudden heat creeping up his neck and flooding his face. This was unexpected. Jack was undeniably attractive, even through the haze of exhaustion and bruises, but the request caught him completely off guard.
“Jack, you’re exhausted. You just need to wash up and sleep,” Simon managed, his voice sounding tight.
“I don’t want you to leave,” Jack insisted, his grip tightening. “Please.”
Simon didn’t fight him on it. He couldn't. He shed his own gear and stepped into the spray. He stood back at first, watching as Jack reached for the shampoo, his movements sluggish and mechanical. The blonde began to lather his hair, Simon’s gaze trailed down the length of his back, noting the way the water ran down the well-defined lines of his shoulders and the firm, rounded curve of his ass. Instinctively, Simon reached up, his large hands replacing Jack’s trembling ones. He began scrubbing the suds into Jack’s scalp with a slow, firm pressure.
Jack came undone at the touch. His head fell back against Simon’s chest, a long, unintentional breathy moan escaping his lips. It was a sound of pure relief. Before the shampoo could even be rinsed away, Jack turned. Suddenly, Jack had grabbed Simon’s neck with possessiveness. They locked lips. Simon felt a kind of frantic desperation radiating from Jack. Simon leaned into the unexpected kiss. His hands snaked around to lightly grip Jack’s waist. They made out for several minutes. Then, Jack finally broke away and shut off the water.
When the water finally stopped, Simon was ready with a towel, wrapping it around Jack’s shivering frame before leading him back into the bedroom. He found a pair of worn grey sweatpants and a t-shirt in a drawer, helping the blonde into them.
By the time they reached the bed, Jack was a shell of himself. The manic buzz had been replaced by a hollow, desperate silence. He stared at the sheets, his eyes wide with a sudden fear of being alone with the thoughts of his own head.
“Simon,” he whispered. He reached out, his fingers catching the sleeve of Simon’s shirt.
“Don’t go. Please. I don’t think... I want to be alone right now.”
Simon looked at him and saw the precipice Jack was standing on.
There was no judgment in his gaze. He didn’t say a word. He gently grabbed Jack’s shoulders and guided him to lay down. Simon immediately followed, laying down next to him in the bed. Jack didn’t hesitate. He rolled over into Simon’s side, burying his face against the older man’s shoulder, his hands clenching into Simon’s shirt like he was drowning. Simon wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close. Slowly, the tremors in his body began to fade. Smoothed over by the steady, rhythmic beat of an exhaustion.
Jack was quiet, his breathing evening out. The silence in the loft became a heavy, comfortable blanket. He shifted slightly, not pulling away, but lifting his head just enough to look at the shadows of Simon’s face.
“Simon?” The whisper was soft, less desperate.
“Yeah?”
Jack swallowed hard, the last of his pride fighting the raw need thrumming under his skin. “I… I need something. I need a release. Can we… do you want to?”
Simon didn’t have to guess. He knew what Jack was asking for. He gently grabbed the blonde’s jaw in his hand lifting Jack’s chin toward him.
“Jack,” Simon murmured, his voice firm but tender. “If you need it, I’ll give it to you. But I need you to be clear with what you want from me.”
Jack swallowed. His pride taking the brunt of the damage. “I-I don’t want to think anymore. Would you… pleas just fuck me, Si.”
Simon lowered his hold to Jack’s waist, pulling him closer. “Of course,” he whispered.
Simon moved his hand, sliding it down Jack’s waist, and then lower. Jack’s breath hitched as Simon’s touch paused teasingly right above where he wanted it. Jack’s hips bucked and Simon had to swallow the smirk that threatened across his lips.
Simon shifted, moving himself lower on the bed until he was nestled between Jack’s thighs.
Tugging down the blonde’s sweatpants and boxers. He leaned down, his breath hot against Jack’s inner thigh as he kissed the skin. His tongue swept across Jack’s entrance. Jack’s hips bucked off the mattress, a choked sound escaping him as Simon continued.
The wet, light touch was a sensory overload that finally shattered the last of Jack’s mental walls.
Only when Jack was shivering and visibly slick with readiness did Simon finally transition, sliding his fingers in to continue. The air in the bedroom was thick, charged with a tension that was stripped of everything but the sound of skin on skin.
As Simon continued to prep him, the physical reality of what was happening crashed over Jack. He felt small, even vulnerable.
“Simon, wait,” Jack rasped, his fingers digging into the mattress. “I feel… It's weird. I don’t know how to do this.”
Simon stopped instantly, his weight shifting as he caged Jack in under him. His eyes were dark with concern, searching Jack’s face in the amber light. “Do you want to stop? If you do, we can right now, Jack.”
Jack shook his head, a frantic, jerky movement against the pillow. “No, No. I just… I’m in my head. I feel awkward.”
Simon watched him for a long moment, his thumb tracing the line of Jack’s cheek. He could see the gears of Jack’s anxiety grinding.
“Look at me,” Simon commanded softly. When hazel eyes finally met his, Simon leaned down, his voice a low vibration. “Kiss me. Just focus on that.”
When their lips collided, Jack drank him in, the taste of Simon acting like a drug that finally silenced the noise in his brain. He got lost in the friction of their lips, the heat of Simon’s tongue, becoming effectively drunk on the intimacy. Beneath the distraction of the kisses, Jack’s body began to yield, the initial discomfort melting into a heavy, pulsing heat. Then, Simon’s fingers finally found the spot. A sharp, desperate moan broke through the kiss, vibrating between their mouths.
Simon broke away. His teeth grazing the skin of Jack’s neck, and the blonde’s back arched off the sheets.
“Bite me,” Jack whispered, the words barely audible.
Simon hesitated, his head snapping up. “What?”
“Bite me. I need to feel it,” Jack pleaded, his eyes glazed and desperate. “Please.”
Reluctantly, Simon sank his teeth into the curvature of Jack’s shoulder and neck. He started with what he considered medium pressure, but Jack’s only response was a frustrated growl, his hips bucking upward. “Harder!”
As Simon obliged, he dug his teeth in further, until he tasted the faint metallic flavor of blood.
The sharp sting of pain combined with the relentless sensation on his lower half nearly sent Jack over the edge. The mixture of agony and ecstasy was the only thing loud enough to drown out the week. He lost his grip on reality, about to release. He was so close. Just a little more.
Suddenly Simon pulled his fingers out.
“Nooo!! Why??” Jack whined.
Simon didn't answer. Instead, he leaned down, his eyes dark with a cruel kind of pleasure as he watched the desperate heat on Jack's face. He let the silence stretch, listening to Jack’s shallow, frantic gasps.
“I want to hear you, Jack,” Simon murmured, the words rough against his ear. “I want to see you beg for this.”
Jack shook his head, a choked sound tearing from his throat. The tears of desperation threatened to well up, blurring his vision. He felt utterly exposed, at the complete mercy of the man looking down on him.
“Please, Simon,” he managed, the words a pathetic, broken plea.
Simon gave a slow, satisfied smirk, the darkness of his gaze intense. “Say please again.”
Jack choked out a sob. This was how he was going to play?
“Please,” Jack whispered, tears silently falling down his temples.
“Please, Simon, I need to come... Please.”
Simon finally gave in. He surged forward, pressing back in with a sudden, overwhelming force. He didn’t stop, driving his fingers in deeper and harder, he added a third finger for good measure, feeding the desperate need he'd just created.
Jack cried out, the feeling of release building back up again. Finally, moments away from release.
But just as Jack’s thighs began to shake with the impending climax, Simon abruptly curled his fingers and yanked them back, the sudden absence of the friction leaving Jack stranded on the very edge of a cliff. Again.
A choked, frantic sob broke from Jack’s throat as he arched his back so high his head pressed into the headboard, his hands clawing uselessly at the sheets.
The denial was a physical blow, replacing the build up with an agonizing, pulsing void. He was shaking, his skin slick with a cold sweat, his mind reduced to desperation that finally stripped away the last of his resistance.
“Simon!” Jack sobbed, “Why?!”
Simon held back a devious grin. Now probably wasn’t the time to tell the blonde beneath him that he was torturing him simply because he was enjoying the sounds he made.
Simon leaned in, kissing the sweat from Jack's forehead before whispering against his ear. "Can I be inside you, Jack."
Jack knew what Si meant. Jack nodded. His eyes filled with a desperate hunger.
A broken "please, I need you" escaped his lips. The words sent a chill down Simon's spine.
Simon briefly paused the intense moment.
"We should use a condom, Jack," he murmured, with a responsible caution.
Jack immediately shook his head, his hand catching Simon’s wrist to stop the movement. "No," he gasped, his eyes wide and burning with a raw, desperate honesty. "Don’t. I want to feel you. I want to feel everything. Please, no condom."
The blunt refusal caught Simon off guard, his eyebrows raising in genuine surprise. He searched Jack’s face, looking for any hint of hesitation, but found only a fierce, desperate hunger.
After a heartbeat of silence, Simon deeply inhaled. "Alright. If that's what you want."
He shifted, lifting Jack’s waist and draping his trembling thighs over his own. After a moment, Simon looked up to see Jack studying him with pupils blown so wide, they swallowed the glowing green.
“I’ll go slow,” Simon promised. Jack just closed his eyes and threw a forearm over his eyes, a silent surrender. “Please just let me come this time.”
“ Hmm, maybe,” Simon replied.
The first push made Jack’s entire world narrow down to a single point of pressure. It was a stinging, stretching throb that made his breath hitch. Simon was gentle, his muscles froze, until he felt Jack begin to relax. When he went the rest of the way, a high pitched, breathy whimper escaped Jack’s throat.
“Talk to me,” Simon murmured, his other hand gripping Jack’s waist.
Jack pulled his arm away from his eyes. Tears were streaming down on his cheeks. “I don’t know,” he managed with a strained effort. “It hurts… but I like that it hurts.”
The confession seemed to fuel something primal in Simon. Finally, his previous suspicion was confirmed. Jack was into pain and pleasure.
He began to move. A slow, agonizingly deep rhythm that drew muffled moans from Jack. But as Simon pulled out leaving only the tip in, Jack’s hands flew to his shoulders, pulling him back down. “No, no, no… don’t do this to me…”
Simon paused. Maybe it was time to give the man what he’d begged for. He thrust himself back inside with a hungry pace. The room was filled with the sound of skin hitting skin and Jack’s shallow panting and moans. He was begging now, a mantra of "please, please, please" as he spiraled into oblivion.
Simon’s face was etched into a scowl of concentration mixed with a satisfied smirk, his hand snatching Jack’s wrists and pinning them together above his head. He used his free arm to hook one of Jack’s legs over his shoulder. He thrust in again, driving deeper with every thrust. He was getting close himself.
Simon observed Jack, he could tell he was on the edge. Finally, he gave the blonde a final blow. Simon sank his teeth into Jack’s inner thigh making the younger man’s back arch, his entire body seizing in a violent, shuddering release. Simon came seconds later, pressing deeper into Jack as the pulsing throb calmed down.
Simon released the skin from his teeth and looked at the man beneath him. Jack was gone. The fucked out expression on his face as evidence. Simon smirked. He kinda preferred the blonde this way. Underneath him. Struggling to breathe.
Slowly Simon pulled himself out, forcing out a low whine from Jack. Simon watched as the blonde struggled to stay awake. His unfocused eyes blinked heavily until they finally closed for good.
Simon reached up and brushed the blonde strands of stray hairs from his forehead. He leaned down and whispered that he would clean them both up to which he got an absent minded “mmmhh” in response.
Simon held back a chuckle. Jack was gone, gone. He probably didn’t hear or understand a word he just said. Simon got off the bed and walked down the hall and turned on the water to the bathtub.
Would a shower be better? Yes.
Would Jack be able to stand to take said shower? No.
So, bathtub it was.
Once Simon checked that the water was warm enough. He padded back to the bedroom. The blonde still had his eyes closed, his panting had calmed into a regular rhythm.
Jack barely registered that he was being lifted. Carried bridal style to somewhere he didn’t know.
The biting cold of the room was replaced by the soothing heat of water. He let his head loll back against a surface that wasn’t soft but wasn’t hard either. It was warm and it moved at a steady rate. Jack cracked his eyes open and took in where he was. He was leaning against Simon’s chest, in the warmth of the water in his bathtub..
“You with me, Jack?” Simon’s voice rumbled through his back, low and gentle. “You did well, but you’re probably going to be sore tomorrow.”
Jack just shook his head, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. He’d never felt safe like this. Not ever. “We… should do this again,” he mumbled, his words slurring under the weight of exhaustion.
Simon tightened his arm around Jack’s waist, pulling him into the curve of his body. “If that’s what you want. We will.”
A quiet moment passed with the two remaining just as they were.
“Can you bring your legs up for me?” Simon asked, breaking the comfortable silence. Jack complied, his movements heavy and slow as he drew his knees toward his chest. Simon snaked a hand down through the warm water, his fingers finding their way back inside Jack. The sudden intrusion drew a sharp, involuntary whine from Jack’s throat.
“I know, I know,” Simon assured him, his voice a low vibration against Jack’s back. “But I need to clean you up.”
Jack didn’t fight it. He simply let his head loll forward, a long, exhausted exhale escaping him as he surrendered to Simon’s touch.
After a few moments, Simon was satisfied. He slowly pulled his fingers out and began to gently rub the areas where the purple bruises were darkest, his thumb tracing the angry red marks his own teeth had left on Jack’s skin. He really shouldn’t be surprised, but it was unexpected. But Simon couldn’t help but wonder. Just how long had Jack been into something like pain and pleasure?
Simon shook the thought away. It didn’t matter tonight. He reached over over and pulled the plug, the gurgle of the draining water filling the small room as he stood and hauled a dripping Jack out of the tub. The sudden change in temperature made Jack shiver as his feet hit the bathmat.
“I… I can do it,” Jack mumbled, his hand twitching toward the towels on the rack. He tried to summon a flicker of his usual independence, a tiny spark of the man who didn’t need anyone’s help. “I can dry myself off, Si.”
Simon didn’t even look at him. He just grabbed a large, plush towel and threw it over Jack’s shoulders, swallowing him in the fabric.
“No,” Simon said, his voice dropping into that low, authoritative register again. “Stay still. Let me take care of you.”
The fight died before it even began. Jack slumped, his head dropping forward as he submitted to the command. He stood there in a quiet, fragile silence, letting Simon’s large hands move the towel over his damp skin. He didn’t say a word as Simon dried his hair, then his back, then his legs, his movements thorough and steady.
Once they were both dry, Simon didn’t wait for Jack to walk. He simply hooked an arm under Jack’s knees and another behind his back, hoisting him up for the second time that night.
Jack’s eyes flew open. He pushed weakly against Simon’s chest as a surprised whine escaped him.
“I can walk Si, put me down,” he mumbled in protest.
Simon didn’t budge. He just glanced down at the exhausted man in his arms. His expression stern and unyielding.
“No, you can’t, Jack. Let me do this.”
Simon’s tone and stern glance he shot Jack was enough. Jack’s fight deflated instantly, letting his head fall against Simon’s shoulder with a sigh.
Simon carried him back into the dim warmth of the bedroom. He laid Jack down on the sheets and climbed in after him, pulling the heavy duvet up over both of them.
The second Simon’s arm settled around his waist, pulling him closer, Jack’s eyes couldn’t stay open. He hadn't meant to go out so fast, but the feeling of being held, being safe, was the final weight that broke him.
With his forehead pressed into Simon’s chest, Jack drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep before he could even exhale.