Warnings: oral sex, sneaky wanking, cuddling
Word Count: 2350
Spoilers: Episode 2x03
Summary: What happens that night at the community center if Simon doesn't leave, very quickly.
Disclaimer: Misfits does not belong to me.
Notes: Thanks to doctorpancakes for advice and for helping me figure out a title for this fic. ;)
It was turning out to be a very strange night.
"Your hand's on my leg," Simon said.
Nathan's hand was indeed on his leg, rubbing up and down as though he were trying to strike up a fire on it. Simon didn't know quite what to think of it. He also couldn't think of anyone who'd ever touched the inside of his thigh, except maybe the proctologist, or the police when they'd given him a pat down after arresting him for the whole house burning incident.
"Shhh," Nathan said to him, and laid a finger against his lips. Simon's eye twitched. Nathan was looking at him as though he was the last Yorkie bar in the vending machine, and he was closing in – he was – he was –
He was kissing him!
He jerked back. Nathan strained to follow after him. His first instinct was to jump up and escape, but his legs felt like they were made of lead. "What are you doing?" Simon asked.
"You don't know how much I've always wanted to do that," Nathan said, looking both intense and deranged at the same time. "Feel my heart!" he continued, and, not waiting for Simon to follow his order, grabbed the other boy's hand and pressed it to his dramatically heaving chest. "It's racing!"
"Nathan," Simon said warily, his fingers flexing against Nathan's chest. He tried to tug his hand away but Nathan was having none of that; he tightened his grip on it. "Nathan, I don't understand what's going on. You're not acting like yourself. Is – is this a joke?"
"A joke?" Nathan said, his voice suddenly dropping low with offense. "Do you think I'd joke about something like this?"
"Yes," Simon said without hesitation.
"Well, perhaps you're right," Nathan said, "but no, no, Simon, I'm not joking at all!" He dragged Simon's hand up and pressed it to his lips. Simon thought vaguely that something had to be very wrong to make Nathan act this way. For instance, had he actually just called him Simon? Not Barry but actually Simon? "It's okay! It's okay, I'll be gentle." The little puffs of breath that were released from his mouth with each word tingled against Simon's fingers and sent shivers down his spine. How often had he dreamed of the day when someone would do something like this to him? Okay, I didn't dream of it being exactly like this, he thought as Nathan pushed him onto his back and climbed on top of him, gently leering, but it could be worse.
"Why don't we slip your trousers off?" Nathan said, finally letting go of Simon's hand, but now Simon didn't know what to do with it. He let it hover in the air for a minute, and then, as Nathan really did begin to unzip his trousers, his hand jerked forward and clamped onto Nathan's shoulder, a bout of nerves overtaking him. Nathan paused and smiled at him. "It's all right," he said, "we don't have to fight any longer."
"Ahh," Simon said nervously. "Nathan –" He gulped. Nathan had successfully unzipped his fly and was tugging his trousers down over his hips and ... "Nathan, are – are you sure we should be doing this?"
"Aw, Simon," Nathan whispered, "I just want to see it!" He winked. Then he plunged his hands into Simon's pants and grabbed onto his cock – in his head Simon heard Nathan's earlier words suddenly echo deliriously in his ears – like a warm, friendly snake! He made a noise that was half terror and half, if he were perfectly honest, arousal, and covered his face, because he most certainly did not want to see it. To his great discomfort, that didn't stop him from imagining it in his mind.
"Well, hello there," Nathan said, and made a thoughtful noise as he fondled Simon's rapidly rising prick. "Okay, okay," he admitted, and Simon suddenly was aware that at some point, his face had gotten very close to Simon's crotch, so close he could feel his breath against his skin, and Nathan's wild curly hair tickling at his belly. "Maybe I want to do more than just see it."
Then Nathan licked his cock.
"Ahh!" Simon shouted, his voice at a rather embarrassing pitch. "Nathan! Why – why are you doing this?"
"Hmm," Nathan said, smacking his lips, before proceeding to cover the tip of Simon's penis with his mouth. He sucked on it experimentally for a minute, and then released it, letting it pop from his mouth as though it were an ice lolly. "Never actually done this before," he said, as Simon tried to get his breathing under control, "but I've had it done to me plenty of times, can't be that difficult, can it?" He grinned at Simon and licked his lips. "Even you've had a blowie before, haven't you? From that weird girl who was disguised as Alisha." He wrapped a hand around the base of Simon's cock, steadying it. "You'll have to tell me later if she's as good as me," he said, and ducked his head down again.
Simon nearly choked. He decided to shut up.
Nathan certainly was ... enthusiastic. He did try, moronically, to compare the current oral assault on his genitals with the bizarre experience he'd had with Lucy-as-Alisha, but the whole thing was coalescing in his mind as one big messy, out-of-body experience. Nathan was pursing his lips into a tight circle and sliding them up and down Simon's shaft, sloppy and spitty and unbearably hot. Simon's mind fluctuated wildly from the image of not-Alisha kneeling down in front of him, to Alisha back on that day they all discovered their powers, giving head to a plastic drinking bottle. Then with a rush he was back to the present, to the display being acted out right now before him. At some point he'd started peering through his fingers, his hands still clamped over his eyes in disbelief. Nathan licking a long stripe up from his balls to the head of his dick, then going down again, then back. Nathan's eyes darting up to look at him playfully, smiling around his mouthful at the knowledge that Simon was watching him. Nathan sliding his hands deeper into Simon's opened trousers, caressing his balls.
It seemed like it went on forever, but realistically Simon knew he couldn't have lasted that long. It was too intense. When he came, it was like he'd been struck by white hot lightning, like the storm all over again. Dimly he could hear Nathan coughing and hacking, but he couldn't bring himself to look up or move or even say anything for a few minutes. When he did sit up, blinking, Nathan was on his knees, wiping his mouth with the side of his hand ruefully but with an expression of extreme satisfaction.
"So?" Nathan asked, raising an eyebrow. "Pretty amazin', huh?" He slipped his arms around Simon's neck and leaned in to kiss him.
The taste of his own semen on Nathan's lips seemed to snap Simon out of it; what on earth was he doing? Shivering, he pulled away and started to stand up, belatedly remembering to tuck himself back into his pants. Nathan looked stricken. "Simon! Simon, don't go!" he said. He pulled Simon back down to the floor and clasped his hands in his own. "We don't have to go all the way," he said, sounding, for the first time, a little less confident. "We can just ... cuddle."
"Nathan," Simon said slowly, "you just ... you just ... put my penis in your mouth."
"Yeah," Nathan said, stroking the side of Simon's face. "Didn't you like it?"
Simon couldn't bring himself to answer that. "This is weird," he blurted out. "Either this is part of some sort of elaborate prank or ... or something's very wrong with you." He cleared his throat. "Whichever of the two it is, I think it's best if I leave."
Nathan's face fell. Simon felt bad. He was not very good at withstanding emotional pleas, the few times in his life he'd actually been a target of one, but he'd never thought he'd find himself fending off Nathan in such a situation. "Don't you like me, Simon?" Nathan asked, sounding almost tearful.
"What a bizarre question to ask," he said, mostly because he found himself utterly at a loss to give an answer. Did he like Nathan? He supposed so. He'd been sad when he'd been dead. But Nathan also made his life a living hell at times.
Nathan, however, seemed to completely miss the neutrality of his answer, and took it instead as a confirmation of the obvious: of course Simon liked him. He smiled broadly, beautifully, really, and wrapped his arms around Simon. "All right then," he said, levering him down bodily onto his little mattress. "See, no bad touching." He waved his hands mischievously in the air once Simon was fully reclined, and dove down next to him, snuggling against his arm.
How have I allowed myself to be talked into this? Simon thought, but he was starting to feel sleepy, his body reminding him that he had in fact just orgasmed. Despite the discomfort of the entire situation, the weird sensation of Nathan lying against him on his tiny mattress, he began to drift off.
That is, until he noticed that Nathan was making some very odd noises, and was moving slightly – not against him, per say, but next to him.
"Nathan," he said, opening his eyes and looking down with trepidation, "what are you do— oh, Jesus." Nathan had his hand thrust down his own trousers, and was quite clearly wanking.
"Sorry," Nathan said breathlessly, "I'm still a little wound up from before." Simon groaned and covered his eyes with his hand. "Maybe," Nathan continued hopefully, "when you're ready ... we could do a little ... dry humping?"
"Nathan," he hissed.
"What?" Nathan whispered loudly. "I'm a man, I've got needs too, you know."
Simon swallowed. "I really have to go." He rose to his feet and stepped away before Nathan could get his hands all over him again.
"Do – do you have to?" Nathan said, looking miserable.
"Yes," Simon said. "Look, we'll ... we'll talk later."
Nathan smiled suddenly. "Oh – all right – we'll talk." He waggled his eyebrows.
"No," Simon said firmly, "I don't mean that." He cleared his throat. "Maybe we could ... uh .. start a little smaller? A ... a date?"
"A date?" Nathan said. "Wasn't this a date?" He spread his arms to encompass all the wonders of his little squat – air mattress, iPod docking station, six pack of beer with four cans left, a stack of those coarse brown paper towels from the community center washroom placed next to the bed with what Simon felt was ominous purpose.
"No," Simon said. "Uh ... maybe we could ... get a pizza? And garlic dough balls?"
Nathan rested his chain on his hands. "And watch Battlestar Galactica?" he asked, and winked.
"Sure," Simon said, flushing suddenly and abruptly at the realization that, despite Nathan's seemingly single-minded attempt to get into his pants earlier, he'd apparently retained some of Simon's woeful conversational topics. At the same time he felt oddly pleased by it, even if Nathan was surely only teasing him – yes, judging by the way he was currently sliding his tongue along his teeth, he must be.
"Great," Nathan said. "It's a date." He waved after Simon's retreating form. "Call me!"
Before the date could happen, of course, it all came out – the tattoos, Vince, the peanuts – well, the peanuts were irrelevant. For three days, Nathan had been in love with him. Now he was not.
And though he'd never quite believed it was genuine to begin with, he still felt a bit like a fool.
When they got back to the community center after finishing cleaning up the car park, Nathan quickly changed out of his jumpsuit and then fled the locker room with uncharacteristic haste. Simon was frankly grateful. Though he'd enjoyed teasing Nathan a bit about his bizarre infatuation for him, Nathan's complete and utter lack of shame or concern over the incident only seemed to drive home the fact that it had all amounted to nothing. He ought to be peculiarly grateful, he supposed, that Nathan hadn't seen fit to advertize the fact that Simon had actually submitted to some of his physical affections ... for now. Let's be honest, Simon thought as he gathered his things and shut his locker, he's bound to mention it someday, probably at the most awkward time. He's just saving it up for maximum effectiveness.
He had just left the center and was starting to walk down the street to the estate when he heard the sound of heavy footfalls behind him and Nathan's voice bellowing, "Barry! Wait up, man!"
Simon froze for a moment, then turned around slowly. Nathan was jogging after him, panting heavily. He stopped and bent over to catch his breath, leaning one hand on a leg. In his free hand he was carrying two pizza boxes.
"Oi," Nathan said, "I thought we had a date."
"What?" Simon asked in deep disbelief.
"I got your fuckin' pizza," Nathan went on, "and garlic dough balls." He waved the boxes around, then deposited them in Simon's arms. "You owe me £5.50 by the way."
"Oh," Simon said dumbly. A little tingle of excited optimism went through him.
"Well, come on," Nathan said. "Time's a wastin'. We've got an awful lot of Battlestar Galactica to watch, don't we, Barry?"
"Well, yes," Simon started, feeling one of his ill-advised verbal car crashes coming on, "there's a mini-series first, then there are four seasons ... American seasons I mean ... of course, it'll take awhile to watch it all. A couple weeks. I mean, if you decide you want to watch more of it after tonight. You don't have to. It's up to you, really ..."
"Barry," Nathan said, "if you don't shut up, I might be forced to snog you again."
Simon decided to shut up.
A/N: Now close your eyes and imagine Robert Sheehan saying Battlestaaeer Galactica. My gift to you.