Time to Ourselves @talloran
1

Simon Glass awakens in the small hours, without being terribly sure of why. In the perfect darkness of his Site 19 room, all that can be seen is the time on his bedside alarm: 4:36am. Not long before he’d usually get up for work, but given that Agatha hasn’t allowed him back from his medical leave yet (and Jack, as much as he loves them, has also refused him clemency until his new therapist says he’s fit to return), he’s entitled to consider rolling over and going back to sleep for another few hours. That isn’t what he’s going to do, however. 

 

Instead, Simon gropes for his phone and finding it, draws it back into the nest of blankets he’s made for himself and blearily checks his messages. Three, from about an hour and a half earlier. He knows before he even unlocks the device that it’ll be Jack. Who else texts him at a few minutes past three in the morning? 

 

❤️:

Wyd

❤️:

Oh shit you’re asleep 

❤️:

Sorry baby x 

 

He smiles at the messages. He does just wish they’d decided to turn up at Three AM and slip into bed with him, rather than just leave it. He likes that regardless of what they had been doing they’d still been thinking of him. 

 

Sent Message:

Yeah i was asleep x 

Sent Message:

Hope you’ve gone home since you texted me x

❤️ is typing…

 

He rolls his eyes and waits for them to text him again. He knows they haven’t. He knows if he bothered to get dressed enough to go over to the building he’d find them behind their desk, half asleep and still working on paperwork. Bad habits die especially hard. Something they both knew all too well. 

 

❤️:

No

Sent Message:

Jack.

❤️:

Simon.

Sent Message:

You should go home. 

 

Sent Message:

Or come over. I don’t mind which. 

 

❤️:

I actually have a conference call in an hour and by the time it’s done it’ll be time for me to start work. :(

Sent Message:

Oh sweetheart :( 

Sent Message: 

Well.

Sent Message:

After work do you want to come straight over here? I’ll make dinner and you can sleep over?

❤️ is typing…

 

He leaves them typing for a moment, and slips to another app. He’s sure he found a new recipe he’d wanted to make for them. He doesn’t even think he’ll need to buy anything or do anything more than make sure it was hot and on the table for them so if they wanted to curl up on the couch and doze off immediately after eating they could. 

 

❤️:

That a date, Glass? 

❤️:

I’m only coming over if it is

 

He grins. 

 

Sent Message:

Of course it is. I love you, why wouldn’t I want you to come over for a date?

❤️:

Smooth talker

Sent Message:

Oh now you’re just teasing me

Sent Message:

Come over when you finish at 5 x i’ll have dinner ready x 

❤️:

Whats desert

❤️:

Dessert* 

Sent Message:

surprise

❤️:

Could have humored me and said “me ;)” 

 

❤️:

Need to work on your sexting game 

Sent Message:

póg mo thóin

 ❤️:

Thats a little better

Sent Message:

5:30 or im not letting you in 

❤️:

i’ll be there, my dove x 

 

Simon slides his phone back onto the side and settles back down in bed. He can sleep for another few hours. He has time until he needs to actually get up and do things today. He has his meeting with Bradt at 11, but before then he can make bread and start on other things he’d need to make. Something sweet for them, given their love of his more sugary bakes. 

 

Simon Glass falls asleep. 

 

***

Much later, appointment complete (with only career requisite avoidance of topics he was not allowed to discuss, even here), he returns home, knocks back the loaf of bread he’d left to prove and slides it into a heated oven. Everything else was ready to go, just a matter of sliding things in to cook at the right time before they got here. 

 

He shouldn’t be nervous. It makes absolutely no sense for him to be nervous about seeing Jack, when it was something he was used to being excited about. He chews his bottom lip. Perhaps it was because it mattered more now. The time they got to spend together in these early days together. Perhaps it was because he’d managed to fuck up the last few relationships he’d had.

 

...No, he shouldn’t think like that. 

 

He plays with the claddagh on his right ring finger, and tries to decide what he wants to do next. He settles on having a shower, getting cleaned up, and putting the heat on so that the house is that level of warm that Jack prefers. He resolves to also dig out a less scandalous shirt than the one he’s been baking in. 

 

He spends the next hour getting his poky flat tidied and made cosier. It’s the little things, like an extra blanket on the couch, cranking the heating up to levels more to his lover’s comfort than his own. Not that he ever minds, and he doubts Jack minds either when he ends up having to shed layers. Valerie and Hibiki are fed, and he checks the time. Half an hour until Jack arrives. That’s time enough to clean himself up, after he’s put dinner in the oven. He sends them a quick message.

Sent Message:

Hey im having a shower and not putting my hearing aids back in 

Sent Message:

Theres a key under the mat for you, just bring it in w you when youre coming in x 

 

He receives a thumbs up emoji as the only response, and dumps his phone on the couch before stepping into the shower. As soon as he’s out, he can hear movement in the lounge, and is unable to stop himself from smiling as he pulls on some clothes. 

 

“Hey handsome.”

 

They’re draped over his couch, and look exhausted. He slips over to them and leans down, one hand either side of their head and presses a long, slow kiss to their lips, Jack’s arms slide up around his neck, pulling him closer with a low, pleased noise. 

 

“Hey yourself,” Simon replies, pressing another kiss to their cheek, settling his weight on a knee between their legs. “You look tired as hell, darlin’.”

 

“Mm, so I get tired and you get handsome? Seems unfair.”

 

Their voice takes on that low, teasing tone and he chuckles, pressing in closer, hand sliding down to brush hair away from their face. 

 

“If the boot fits, sweetheart.”

 

They poke him in the ribs and he wheezes, laughing and pulling away from them to grab their dinner from the oven. 

 

“Want a drink?”

 

“Yeah,” they call from their spot, looking more and more like his prediction of a nap immediately after dinner was on the cards. They stretch back into the couch a little more. “What whiskeys are you hoarding?”

 

Simon rolls his eyes.

 

“Help yourself, cabinet under the TV. Glasses are in there too.”

 

He turns away and goes back to the kitchen, grabbing gloves to pull the dish from the oven, kitchen immediately filling with the smell of the pasta bake he’d cobbled together as something fairly easy and comforting on a cold winter’s night. Jack joins him to hand him a glass and he turns to take it, ducking as they pull him down again for another kiss. 

 

“Pasta?”

 

“Yeah. Ricotta and marinara.”

 

They make a pleased noise as he dishes up, scooping up their plate with a smile far more pleased than you would think a simple dish of pasta would engender in anyone, and sinks back onto his couch, Simon following behind. They're almost silent whilst they both eat, before Jack makes an attempt to take his empty plate and head for the kitchen. 

 

"No way. You're sleepy, stay sat down and I'll bring you dessert." 

 

They begin to protest, but is easily pushed back into their seat. “Let me look after you, honey.”

 

They melt. Simon takes their plates and returns to the kitchen. Dishes could wait until tomorrow. He can feel their eyes on him as he pulls the pan from the bottom of his oven, trying to see what he’s made from their perch. He places a plate over the pan and inverts it, releasing the tarte tatin onto the plate. 

 

“It’s no apple brown betty, but I think it’ll do. You want ice cream?” 

 

Jack replies yes, of course they want ice cream and he digs through the freezer, finding the small tub of vanilla and liberally scooping some onto Jack’s portion before returning to them. He’s gratified with the pleased noise they make when they take a bite, and again they slip into an easy silence. He knows they’re tired based solely on how they aren’t talking his ear off. As soon as he slides the plate from their hands and sits it on the table he can see it in them, as they stretch languidly and fights to keep their eyes open.

 

“You need a nap.”

 

“No,” they protest, albeit weakly. “I want to chat more.”

 

“Jack,” he says softly, tucking a lock of hair that’s come loose back behind their ear once more. “You need some sleep. If you want to chat I can wake you in a couple of hours for a movie. Right now, though? You need a rest.”

 

They make a quiet grumble of consideration, and then assent as he loops arms around their waist and easily pulls them into his arms, lifting them from the couch as if they weigh nothing. They loops their own arms about his neck and press a kiss to the side of his neck as he takes them into his room and sets them lightly on his bed, settling to help them with their shoes. 

 

“Got a box, babe?”

 

“Hm?”

 

Simon looks up to them, sheepishly holding 963 in two hands, tucked as neatly around itself and as far from Simon as they could reasonably get it. He stands and moves to a chest of drawers, rooting through the contents until he finds a leather pouch, shakes the old field kit junk from it and presents it to them Jack puts away the amulet and dumps the bag beside his bed. 

 

“Finally passed 30 days?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

They sound pleased when they say that, and smiles up at him, which is easily enough to make him bend to kiss them again. 

 

“Gonna cuddle up with me?”

 

“Of course. Want some PJs?”

 

They nod, grinding the heel of a hand into their eye. He pulls a soft old t-shirt from a drawer as they get undressed, only requiring (an obvious lie, but not that he minds) help to get their bra off when their own dexterity is hampered by tiredness. They’re soon in the old tee, curled beneath his blankets, and it’s all too easy to slide in behind them and curl an arm around their waist. They’re asleep within minutes, and he presses a gentle kiss to the top of their head before turning onto his back to read. 

 

*** 

 

He wakes them around an hour and a half later, kissing their neck until they press themself in against him, stirring until they’re grumbling at him for waking them. 

 

“You need to. Or you’ll wake up at 3am and have to sit here on your lonesome when I’m not awake to join you.”

 

They spend the next few minutes like that while she wakes a little more, and they’re soon pressing him onto his back so they can cuddle more closely to his side. He starts to turn to ask them a question, when they surprise him with their own:

 

“Want to come to Site 17 with me?”

 

“What?” 

 

They sit up a little more, trailing fingers across his chest. 

 

“I.. I have a meeting there next weekend. Flight in is on Friday, flight back here on Monday. I’m not due anywhere either Saturday or Sunday. I was wondering if you’d like to come with. Spend some time together. Gets you out of Site 19 for a bit, either way.”

 

They bite their lip.

 

“I know you hate flying but I’ll be with you, you won’t have to be worried. You don’t have to come with me if you’d rather-”

 

He interrupts them by kissing them, slowly, tenderly, until they relax against him. He pulls back and chews his lower lip as he thinks. 

 

“I’d love to come with you, of course. Could even get you off Site, for a couple of days.”

 

There’s a look of confusion on their face, but he doesn’t leave them hanging long. He never was one for keeping them waiting. Not unless they asked really nicely. 

 

“I have an apartment in Berlin. Shared with my twin. I can ask him if he can make himself scarce if he’s there that weekend. Have somewhere that doesn’t have paper thin walls.”

 

There’s an implication there that makes them grin and press in to kiss him and he’s glad.

 

“How do you plan to get me off Site then? Hop on the old orbital bus?”

 

He snorts.

 

“I have a car at 17. I can go see some friends and check up on old patients. When you’re done we can meet at the storage block it’s in and head into the city?”

 

“Yeah,” Jack says, smiling softly. “I’d like that.”

 

They spend the rest of the evening curled up, watching Mirage, Simon trailing fingers across their scalp until eventually, as the credits roll, they’re asleep on his chest, one arm around his waist. He’s about able to set his laptop down on the floor and the lamp to turn it off, and it’s like this that he falls asleep, cradling his love in his arms. 

 

 

Site 17 is picturesque in the winter. The snow has swallowed the bog behind the building, and each branch is blanketed in heavy snow. Simon is perched on a wall beside a duck pond he used to sit at with Talloran, and waits for Jack. They’re not going to be much longer, with any luck, and he can give them the gift he’d secreted away in his luggage. He’d been intending on giving it to them sooner but it had needed a few finishing touches that he’d completed over the last week, whilst still on leave. 

 

He sees them approaching through the trees lining the walkway and rises to his feet with a smile, proffering the bag as soon as they're close enough to take it from him. 

 

“What’s this?”

“I made you something. Open it.”

 

They pull open the gift bag, handing him their laptop bag to hold so they can examine the bag’s contents, pulling forth the deep maroon scarf he’s knitted for them. It’s of a thick angora wool with a simple cable pattern, designed to be perfectly warm no matter the weather. 

“Simon-”

 

“Jack.”

 

“This is beautiful.”

 

They pull the scarf on, arranging it so 963 can still be seen, per their rules regarding it. They reach up to him, grabbing him by the tie to pull him down to kiss, and for once, he doesn’t even mind the public nature of their kiss. Let people stare. He’s kissing Jack Fucking Bright, of whom he’s sure there isn’t a better kisser in the world. They seem to wince and pull back, the start of a sorry on their lips when they remember the discomfort he has around public affection, but he follows, pulling them back in. He’s happy to continue, if only for them.

 

“Thank you, Simon.”

 

“You’re welcome. Thought you’d like to be cosy.”

 

They twine their fingers with his and he picks up the two little travel bags; theirs and his that he’s been looking after while they were in their meeting, and they head for the car storage at the edge of the facility. He hasn’t mentioned the type of car to Jack yet. It’s one of Ardal’s old models, one he’d given to Simon with the insistence that he needed a car of some sort. Not that he isn’t glad to have it. 

As soon as they’re in the elevated parking Jack is craning their neck over the cars to try and spot what they could possibly be heading towards. He almost walks past the car and then stops, so suddenly they’re yanked to a halt. 

 

“What’s the matter, forgot where you parked?”

 

He grins.

 

“Just get in.”

 

He clicks the keys and the violently blue, low-slung sports car’s lights flare into life, engine starting with a low rumble. Ardal always had liked his fancier toys. Jack gives a low whistle. 

 

“What?”

 

“You absolute rich kid stereotype.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

He opens the door and puts their belongings into the back seat, before lowering himself into the car. Jack gets in on the other side.

 

“It’s my brother’s old one. He’s got a thing for fast cars. Changes often enough that if I hadn’t taken this one I don’t know what he’d have done with it.”

 

“Hm. Still a rich kid.”

 

Simon shrugs. As soon as they’re buckled in, he pulls out of the space. Once they’re out on the main road, Jack grins that sly little smile of theirs.

 

“How fast can this thing go?”

 

“Uhh, 0 to 124 miles per hour in 8 seconds?”

 

Then, his own smile becoming more sly by the second:

 

“Why, want a demonstration?”

 

They place a hand on his leg. “I didn’t take you for a speed demon.”

 

“Oh I’ve done my pursuit training. Last chance, we’re about to hit the autobahn.”

 

They nod in agreement, and he motions for them to sit back in their seat. Jack eagerly does so, and as soon as the car hits the open motorway, he floors it. 

 

***

 

They’re at the Berlin apartment in short order, laughing like teenagers caught up to no good when they’re found kissing in the lift by an old woman from one of the lower floors, Simon flushing scarlet while Jack chokes back giggles. The lift soon has them on the top floor, however, and Simon unlocks the door to the apartment, glad his call to Ardal had made sure his brother had sent round a cleaner to make a bed up and get in the essentials. And of course, put on the heat to combat the winter weather outside. 

 

“Like it?” he says, watching Jack step further into the building, shedding their coat, looking up at the art hanging on the walls. 

 

“Simon, this place is gorgeous. Who’s the art by?”

 

“Ardal. He doesn’t like having his own art up but I maintain the walls of this place look weird with nothing on them. His husband agrees with me, luckily. We’re through here.”

 

He leads them from the large, open plan living area and into a hallway and turns into a large, loft like bedroom with an incredibly plush looking bed and an ensuite bathroom that he was sure was the size of his whole bedroom at home, complete with a deep bath big enough for two. He sets their bags down as Jack drops themself onto the bed.

 

“Fucking hell, Simon.”

 

“What?”

 

“This place. You could be living somewhere like this and you stick around Site 19 for little old me?”

 

“Of course I do,” he says, softly. “I’d rather be anywhere with you than rattling round a big old apartment alone.” 

 

He sits on the bed next to them and kisses them again, more deliberately, more slowly, a hand sliding to their hip. They have time before dinner. Time to just enjoy themselves.

 

***

 

It’s a few hours before they can pry themselves out of their bed and into the shower to get ready to go out. Jack’s pulled a gorgeous suit that fits them perfectly and Simon steams it for them while they shower, getting rid of the wrinkles. He’s already showered, and is seated naked on the edge of their bed as he finishes their shirt and drapes it over the end of the bed. Jack emerges, hair dried but dishevelled, and flashes him one of their trademark, brilliant smiles as they move to perch between his legs as he sits back.

 

“Will you do my hair?” 

 

“Of course.”

 

He carefully takes the brush and first flattens their hair out, before beginning to twist it into a delicate french braid, pulling their gorgeous red locks into an intricate style that kept it out of their maroon eyes. 

 

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs, pressing lips to the tender skin behind their ear. “I like it when you have your hair up.” 

 

They practically purr and press back against him, before reluctantly pulling away to dress, finishing off their outfit with a pair of slender, black heels that bring them up to his shoulder level when he stands, dressed in all black, accented only with his heavy gold jewellery and a bright blue scarf that he pulls on over his dark coat, smiling as Jack drapes their new red one over their own.

 

“Ready to go?”

 

“Of course. What’s for dinner?” 

 

“Indian place, in the city centre. Known for their fish.”

 

He sees the momentary look of panic that they try to mask and is unable to stop himself from snorting with barely contained laughter.

 

“I’m teasing you. I got us a table at the Grill Royal. Steakhouse. Private booth.”

 

They relax then swats at his arm and he smiles, pulling them close. 

 

“Who’s driving?”

 

“No one,” he replies, turning off the lights as they exit the apartment, before pulling the door shut behind him. “It’s within walking distance to get there and we can get a cab back to here.” 

 

“Showing me the sights, Simon? Being romantic ?” 

 

“Of course. Haven’t been back here in fourteen years though, you’ll have to forgive me if I’m a little rusty.” 

 

They make the walk over to the restaurant, Simon pointing out some of the more interesting sights on their way over, including a statue that’s technically a reality anchor in disguise in the centre of a large, open square, and pointedly, away from an alley down which lies the building he was shot in. They squeeze his hand gently. 

 

The restaurant is up market, and the maitre d’ takes their coats and scarves, calling for a waitress to escort them through the restaurant to a quiet booth at the back of the restaurant, far removed from the normal clientele. Perfectly chosen to give them privacy. The woman asks in German if they’d like wine, and Simon replies, asking her to bring something a little sweeter, more to Jack’s taste than his own. She soon leaves them with menus, which Jack peruses with some interest.

 

“Typical to leave prices off menus?”

 

“Places like this, yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

 

“Simon-”

 

“Jack. Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. Let me look after you.”

 

They make a soft noise of protest, but they’re interrupted by the waitress returning and pouring them each a glass of wine before slipping away again, leaving the bottle in an ice bucket by the table.

 

“I can pay my own way, you know.”

 

“Yeah, but let me take you on a proper date. I haven’t been on one in a long time. Let me treat you right.”

 

They soften, reaching a hand over the table, which Simon takes and squeezes gently. They both turn back to their menus, and as the waitress approaches, Simon confirms what they’d like before ordering for them in German to save them the painful task of jabbing a finger at items on the menu as the waitress asks what they’d like. He slides around the table a little to slide a hand onto their knee. 

 

“You really do look fantastic in that suit,” he murmurs, leaning in close to their ear. “Do have the opinion it’ll look even better when I’m taking it off you later.”

 

They slides a hand up to his cheek, turning his face to theirs to press a kiss on the edge of a cheekbone. They sit close like this, chatting quietly, Simon’s arm around them as they wait, until eventually, the appearance of their starters makes them move back to their seats, enjoying their food. The rest of their meal passes much the same, both of them getting steadily tipsier as they finish their shared bottle of wine and move on to whiskey, both become more and more giggly and boisterous until the meal is finished, and the plates are cleared away. 

 

A waitress comes over, looking a little disdainful at their behaviour as they’ve slipped around the booth to sit next to each other, Jack with their arms around Simon’s neck.

 

“Darf ich Ihnen die Dessertkarte bringen?”

 

“Nein, ich denke, wir sollten besser nach Hause gehen. Könnten Sie es aus dem Familienkonto nehmen?”

 

“Ja, Herr Glass. Soll ich dir auch ein Taxi rufen?”

“Ja. Vielen Dank. Stellen Sie sicher, dass Sie einen Tipp für alle hinzufügen.”

 

“Vielen dank.”

 

She smiles and leaves, and Simon returns his attention to Jack. 

 

“You know, I like it when you speak German. You sound… Bossy.”

 

“Hm,” he hums, leaning back in. “Do you like that?”

 

“Sometimes,” they say, chuckling. They take his hand in theirs and press their lips to the back of it. “But no dessert? Simon. You wound me.”

 

“Well, you did complain last time I said dessert wasn’t me.”

 

Their reaction is immediate. Their breath hitches, and he sees the instant hunger in their eyes as they mask it with a drink of whiskey. Before they can say too much, the waitress returns, followed by a young man with their coats and scarves. She hands Simon a receipt and announces in German that their taxi is waiting, Simon helping Jack into their coat before the younger man helps him begin to put his on, before giving up when Simon’s height proves too much for him. Within minutes, they’re in the back of the taxi, both silent as they travel, Jack squirming in their seat. 

 

As soon as they’re in the lift, they’re on him, pulling him down to kiss him as the lift takes them back to the apartment. Jack’s hands feel like as if they’re everywhere as they start popping his shirt buttons open, before giving up and impatiently making him remove his jacket , pausing only so they can both toe off their shoes to save themselves the hassle of yet more to do when they have even less patience to do it. They lock themselves in and Jack backs him up to the bed, pushing him down before settling themself on his hips, looking very much like the cat that got the cream. 

 

“I love you.”

 

“I love you too.” 

 

They lean down again and Simon slides arms up around them, pulling them down into a desperate, hungry kiss before rolling to one side, tipping Jack off him and leaning over them to press hot kisses down their throat. 

 

“Simon?”

 

“Hm?” 

 

“I didn’t pack a strap.”

 

“That’s a shame.” 

 

His hand skates down their side to their thigh and Glass pulls them closer, sucking a hickey to the side of their neck where it meets their shoulder, making them involuntarily press closer even as they try their damnedest to be exasperated with him - but it’s hard , particularly when his current focus seems to be Jack and Jack alone.

 

“Simon, I wanted-”

 

“I know.” 

 

His voice is ragged. Needy. He pulls back from their neck and his pupils are wide, hungry. “If you grab my bag, I came… Prepared.”

 

His smile turns wolfish as he says it, and Jack scrambles to get out of the bed, leaving Simon to pull off his tie and finish unbuttoning the shirt they’d started work on while they’d been kissing and toss it to one side. They return with his bag and set it on the bed, prompting Simon to cock an eyebrow at them.

 

“You’re suddenly shy about going through my things, given I know you had a lot of fun going through that drawer.”

 

They at least pinken slightly at that, and go for the zip, hands fumbling even as they watch Simon shift closer and slide hands to their own buttons, slowly unpicking them as they dig through his bag until they find it, biting their lip when they get their hands on it.

 

“You absolute size queen.”

 

“Shut up and fuck me, Bright.”

 

They shove him back on the bed, batting his hands away when he attempts to help them get undressed. Their smile is sly, something that only intensifies when they grab his wrists and pins his hands back against the pillows, briefly licking their lips as they consider him there. Then they reach for the discarded tie after giving him a stern look to stay where he is.

 

“You wearing this get up all the time may mean it takes a little longer to get you undressed,” they say, twining the silk around his wrists before looping it tight to the headboard, “But God does it have its perks.” 

 

Seemingly satisfied that Simon’s encouraged enough to stay in place - for they both know should he wish to not be bound he could get free very easily - Jack returns to undressing, making sure he’s watching every little movement with that same want as he had before until they’re resting over him nude, basking in the way his eyes watch them so keenly and intently. They lift the straps from the bed and slip them on, smiling at the outright need written all over his face. They’re soon leaning over him again, sliding a hand up his inner thigh to his cunt, smile widening when they feel how wet he already is. He flushes pink.

 

“Shut up.”

 

“But Simon, sweetheart, I haven’t even said anything. Yet.”

 

“You were going to-”

 

Anything else is lost in a cut off gasp when Jack slides fingertips over his clit and down through his folds , stopping just short of pushing into him. They could quite happily tease him for hours if that was what they wanted this evening, but given they’d had to behave themself in the cab and in the elevator and in the fucking restaurant and now…. Well. 

 

“Lost you a bit there, Si.”

 

They slowly press their thumb down on his clit and is rewarded with a string of curses that breaks off into Gaelic. He’s so responsive to their touch that it’s hard to think of anything other than fucking him and then letting him worship them in return after, once they’re done making a mess of him. 

 

It’s an easy choice to get the strap lined up with him, teasing him with its weight before they go anywhere near towards giving him what he wants and filling him with it. What they aren’t shy of doing, however, is continuing to tease him with just the tips of their fingers until he’s on the edge, shaking and craning into their touch until they pull their hand away and leave him wanting.

 

“Jack-”

 

“Shush. Let me take my time with you.” 

 

They lean down to kiss him slowly, pressing their hips forward and finally breaching him with the head of the dildo, eliciting a series of whimpers and soft gasps against their lips that they eagerly use to their advantage, licking into his mouth as they press on, deepening the kiss as they bottom out with it, Simon’s hips straining to meet theirs. There’s too much to focus on, too many places that they want their hands to be, too many thoughts about how they were going to get Simon to repay them once they’d made enough of a mess of him. 

 

He rewards every thrust with a moan or a gasp that makes Jack feel desperate, almost unhinged, wet in a way that makes them want to beg him to touch them, were he able to reach. When he comes they press themself against him, feeling the needy strain of him against them as he finishes. They give him a minute to come back to himself, weak and overly sensitive, pressing kisses along the line of their jaw. Their hands fumble in their haste at the connections holding the strap in place and Simon moves to help but is unable, hands still bound, and Jack eventually manages to loosen them and slip free. They slide a hand to his cheek.

 

“Can I sit on your face?”

 

His nod is the only answer they need. They shed the strap, leaving it still in him just as a little extra taunt as they slip easily over him, cunt aching for contact. Jack leaves his hands bound, despite his straining against the tie that holds them in place, wanting only the feel of his violently warm mouth on them. There’s something incredibly satisfying about the sight of him under them, at the absolute mercy of their whims but still so pliant and trusting. Loving. They can still see the temptation to pull himself free written all over his face. They’d have to put a stop to that. 

 

Simon turns his head to kiss their thighs as Jack positions themself over him, still managing to tease them and make them whine as his breath ghosts hotly over them, before they twine fingers into his hair and turn his head so he’s mere millimetres away from their pussy, and he makes perfect eye contact before raising his head just enough to run a painfully hot tip of tongue up, through their folds before flattening out to press on their clit in a way that drives the strength from Jack’s legs and settle down on him, opening up properly to give him access to their cunt. 

 

His tongue swipes at their clit skilfully, but when Jack starts to get close he moves away, moving to swipe the flat of his tongue through less sensitive places and keeping them on edge as they roll their head back and moan, grinding down against his mouth as he runs his tongue up over their slit and sucks their clit into his mouth. 

 

It’s not a surprise when he loses patience for his hands being bound and with three deft moves that Jack misses, thoroughly distracted by his lips as he masterfully eats them out so that his hands finally sliding into play makes them jump for a moment before they relax back into his touch, moaning as he pushes them to an intense orgasm that has them sobbing with the force of it, thighs twitching as he holds them still so they can’t pull away. 

 

He keeps them there for a good little while, taking them over that edge over and over until Jack’s moans and gasps become wordless and he slackens his grip, which lets them pull away and slump to one side, quiet and breathing heavily as Simon rolls to pull them into his arms. Jack nestles their head into his neck and they both curl into each other as they slip down into sleep. 

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