Chapter Text
People who see them together usually assume Simon’s in charge. His shoulders are broader, hair darker and presence more intimidating, so it seems almost natural that he would lead in their relationship. But the people who know them - the people who see how Simon trails after Kieren, brushes fingertips reverently along Kieren’s wrist before ever taking his hand - they know better. Kieren is gentle, compassionate, but tenderness and dominance are far from exclusive. Rather, it is Kieren’s softness, his kind eyes, that make Simon so quick to submit.
Initially they’re gentle with each other, because this is new and fragile, and the hole where Amy used to be has made them brittle. They learn the curves and angles of the other’s body, how they fit together, how knees don’t quite bend right and shoulders slope sharply down. Kieren’s kisses are always firm and sure, but at first they’re sparse, stolen in quiet moments or given like apologies, reassurances, confirmations. Simon mouth is ever desperate for lips on his and the nape of a neck beneath his fingers.
It takes almost a month for Kieren to realise that Simon only ever kisses back, never demands his touch or asks for his lips. He had almost, once, in the bungalow kitchen, but never again after that.
“You’re allowed to kiss me first, you know.” Kieren says one morning when he arrives at the bungalow. Simon looks up from the paper he’s reading.
“Yeah, I know.” He replies. Kieren sidles up beside him, presses cool lips to Simon’s.
“Just making sure.”
Simon starts kissing him after that. Kieren pretends not to notice how he sometimes looks like he wants to ask for permission first.
When Amy turns up out of the blue one Sunday morning Kieren just about has a heart attack. Of course, being dead negated any actual health risks, but the shock of it is so sudden, so severe that his immediate response is to break down. She holds him through the sobs that wrack his body, kisses his hair and hushes him, her hands warm at the back of his neck.
“How? Amy- I don’t- you were dead, I saw you. I saw your coffin, Amy.” He doesn’t care about how broken his voice sounds, or the fact that they’re crumpled on the front step to his house, Amy shivering in the wind.
Shivering.
Her cheeks are pink, eyes hazel, her teeth are chattering and she’s so beautifully, wonderfully alive that he doesn’t know what to do.
“I’m here now, handsome. That’s what matters.” Amy says in that perfect way of hers, voice light regardless of the dark circles under her eyes. It’s not enough, Kieren needs more than that – an explanation, some reason behind this miracle, but it’s then that Sue stops dead in the porch door and gasps. For the time being explanations can wait.
They go inside, because Amy’s warm skin can feel the cold now, Kieren running bluish fingertips over the gooseflesh on her arm. Sue sets another place for Amy, who settles in as if she had never gone, except for the hand she keeps linked with Kieren’s – as if to keep herself from drifting away. Or perhaps to keep this all from drifting away from her. Kieren can’t stop watching her; the way she blinks more frequently now, wolfs down Sue’s pancakes as if she hasn’t eaten in years. The way her fingers flex when he squeezes them too tight. When Jem wanders down from her bedroom and lays sleepy eyes on Amy’s she freezes.
Then she storms over and hugs Amy for all she’s worth.
“Don’t you ever leave him again.” She growls, but Amy’s eyes are wet and she wraps her arms tightly around Jem.
Kieren insists on walking Amy to the bungalow, won’t let her out of his sight for more than a few minutes for fear that when he looks back she’ll be gone. They’re trudging through the muddy Roarton backstreets, because Amy’s not quite ready for the “spot of bother” her return will undoubtedly bring. Still, she links her arm in his when they walk and bumps his shoulder playfully, asking about everything from Jem’s favourite band to the Roarton Soccer Club. It’s eerie, Kieren thinks, how comfortable she seems in acting as if she’d never been gone.
“Where did you go?” Kieren asks after a while, not at all used to the hazel eyes that turn to him. “How are you back?”
“Back alive?” She laughs, “That I did all by myself, Kieren Walker. Thought I was going rabid at first, what with the shaky hands and nosebleeds, was ready to have Phillip mercy kill me, would you believe?” No, Kieren cannot believe. “But then, what do you know? I started feeling things again! Wetness, temperature, pain.” She giggles at him, steering them around a corner and through an empty field that she swears is a shortcut.
“Wait, shaky hands? Like- like tremors?”
“Yeah, they were weird. You could shake them out, of course, but man they were spooky at first.” Kieren does not tell her about the way his hands trembled at her funeral. That can wait, because apparently they have time now. Still, none of what she had said explains how she’s… back. Her body had been in that coffin, Kieren had helped carry its weight through the graveyard, and yet…
“Amy, where did you go?” At his side she’s quiet for the longest time, staring into the middle-distance.
“You can only come back if you go away.” She says softly, and he frowns, because that’s not good enough. He needs to know how this is possible, how she’s standing there beside him, warm and soft and lovely. Metaphors are not enough for Kieren right now.
“Amy, please-”
“I went to a treatment centre. It’s not important.” Her voice is sharp, and when he goes to protest she snaps. “Don’t ask again, Kieren.” Then gentler, “Please, don’t.” So Kieren doesn’t, letting them walk in silence in the crisp morning air. Amy shudders and huddles a little closer to his side, but otherwise stays quiet beside him. It’s only when they’re around the corner from the bungalow that she speaks again.
“How’re you and Simon?” It’s a loaded question, open to so many interpretations that Kieren can’t even begin to figure out what he should say. Yeah, he’s good, we spent three hours snogging on the couch the other day? Two weeks ago we jerked each other off in my room while my family was downstairs but he’s afraid to hold my hand in public? The first time we shared a bed he had a nightmare so violent I had to hold him for almost an hour before he stopped shaking?
“We’re good.” Kieren says lamely.
“Just good? You should be in the honeymoon phase! Giving each other butterflies in your tummies and snogging all the time, having wild kinky sex followed by dumb romcom movie marathons.” Amy’s voice is light, but her eyes aren’t as bright as they usually are.
“I’m sorry.” He murmurs, because while he’ll never be sorry for wanting Simon, for having Simon, he knows it hurt her.
“I know, love.” She says. “I know.”
Kieren knocks on the door to the bungalow, standing strategically in front of Amy in an attempt to lessen the shock for Simon. When the door opens Simon’s hair is a mess, still in his socks and rubbing sleep from his eyes, but he gives Kieren a surprised smile and leans in for a kiss. Kieren pulls back, and Simon looks like he’s been punched.
Then he sees Amy.
Simon’s face goes slack, eyes wide while his arms, which had been reaching for Kieren, fall to his sides. For a moment Kieren thinks he might pass out, but he doesn’t – he just stands there, slack-jawed and silent.
“Hey, Mr. Disciple.” Amy says. Simon doesn’t reply, but he closes his mouth, jaw flexing as his eyes flick to Kieren. They’re more scared than they are hurt, but Kieren steps forward, takes Simon’s hand in his. Neither says anything, but already Simon’s changing, shoulders loosening a little while the fist that had clenched at his side unfurls. Amy watches the whole exchange silently, a strange, sad smile on her face. “Did you take good care of by BDFF while I was gone?”
The question makes Simon’s mouth turn up in a surprised half-smile. “Did my best, yeah…” Amy smiles properly then, before shouldering past the boys and into the house. They can hear her heels clacking on the kitchen floor, but Simon turns to Kieren, brows furrowed and mouth downturned.
“How-”
“She won’t say.” Kieren whispers back, “I asked, all she mentioned was a treatment centre, nothing else.” A dark look crosses Simon’s face at the mention of the treatment centre, but he leaves it for the time being.
“Kieren, she’s- she’s living.” Simon says.
“I know.” Kieren glances down the hall to where Amy’s laughter is filtering out from the living room. He smiles. “It’s a miracle.” He doesn’t get a response to that, but Simon follows when he heads in to find Amy, their fingers still twined.
Not an hour has passed before there’s a frantic knocking at the door. Amy gets up to answer it before either of the boys can stop her, racing into the hallway behind her in horror. When Phillip falls through the doorway, panting and up to his ankles in mud splatters, they relax.
Amy has to sit on the couch with Phillip in her arms for almost twenty minutes before he stops sobbing, hands clutching desperately to her pink skirt. Retreating to Simon’s room, Kieren settles on the side of the bed but Simon paces aimlessly for several long minutes before sinking down in the corner. They’ve not been together long, but Kieren knows what that means, knows what phantom pains must be running down Simon’s spine. He stands and moves over to Simon, rearranging him until he can slip into the space between his back and the wall. It’s only seconds before Simon is leaning back against his chest, restless fingers going still against his own thighs. Kieren simply reaches down to cover Simon’s hands with his own.
“She’s back. That’s all that matters.” He says quietly. “We’re going to be okay. All of us.”
The following days are surreal, Kieren alternating between unadulterated joy and paralysing terror at Amy’s return, constantly afraid that he may wake up and realised he had dreamed her. After a few weeks, however, things seem to return to the odd normalcy they had had prior to Amy’s death. Of course, there’s food in the bungalow now, and Sue sends Kieren over with a tiny heater one day for Amy’s constant shivering, but otherwise life seems settled. The town takes Amy’s return surprisingly well; no one bar the Walkers and Wilsons will talk to or go anywhere near her, but there have been no death threats or anything of the like, so Kieren counts it as a win.
Simon struggles with Amy’s presence more than most, flinching sometimes when she enters a room unexpectedly. He has more nightmares as well, which he tries to hide at first. It’s only been a week since Amy’s returned when Kieren wakes to Simon shaking in the bed beside him, breathing shallow and harsh while his fingers twitch against the sheets. Kieren shakes him awake, lets Simon curl into his chest and holds him through the tremors, pressing soft kisses to his forehead. Simon doesn’t fall back to sleep for over an hour. After that Kieren spends almost every night for a week at the bungalow.
Naturally Amy walks in one morning and finds them curled around each other, sleep-rumpled and soft. She laughs at Simon’s look of intense embarrassment, the happy sound continuing even as she drifts towards the kitchen, but Kieren kisses Simon sweetly afterwards. From that moment onwards Amy teases them relentlessly, and Kieren lets her; half because he remembers the hurt way she looked at them for the first few weeks, half because she’s his best dead friend forever and that’s what they do. Still, she softens every wolf-whistle with an easy laugh, and happily co-ordinates her dates with Phillip to give them time alone at the bungalow.
Their thing begins during one of those times.
They’re kissing heatedly, pressed against the wall of the bungalow hallway. Amy’s at the Wilson’s having dinner with Shirley and Phillip now that she’s able to stomach almost a meal a day. Kieren’s back is to the plaster, his hands tangled in Simon’s hair, apparently their new favourite place to be. Both of them are hard in their jeans, having spent nearly an hour kissing lazily on the couch before deciding to move to the bedroom. They hadn’t quite made it yet. Simon sucks at Kieren’s lips, presses panting little kisses down his throat before biting down on the juncture between neck and shoulder.
Kieren groans, hands tugging a little too sharply at Simon’s hair. He’s instantly aware of what he’s done, an apology already forming on his kiss-swollen lips, but-
Simon moans and drops heavily to his knees.
There’s a moment of tense, terrifying silence as they realise what has happened. From the floor Simon stares up at him, eyes wide and a little desperate even as Kieren can see the bulge still tenting his jeans. He looks afraid, of rejection or acceptance, Kieren doesn’t know which. When it becomes apparent Simon isn’t going to say anything, Kieren speaks up.
“Is this… do you want this?” Kieren asks, voice scratchy and low, never breaking eye contact.
Simon doesn’t say anything, just keeps staring up at him, lips slightly parted and pupils threatening to overcome his white irises. Kieren weighs the risk, then tightens his grip on Simon’s hair, tilts Simon’s head back a little further. He goes willingly.
“Answer me, Simon.” When it comes, Simon’s response is so soft he barely catches it, the word breathed out on the end of an exhale.
“Yes.”
Kieren watches him, the way his throat works at the odd angle, neck bent to gaze back up at Kieren. He seems to be on the verge of saying something, so Kieren waits silently.
“Please.” Simon says finally. It’s a plea and an admission all in one, dangerous, desperate and tinged with shame. Kieren won’t deny him.
“We need to talk about this.” Simon’s eyes drop to about the level of Kieren’s knees, his expression falling with it. He shuffles a little, as if he intends to stand. Kieren won’t have it, uses his grip on Simon’s hair to tug his face back up, though more gently than before. “But we can do that later. I’m not sure how this will all work, to be honest with you.” Slowly he works his fingers through Simon’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. “But for now, we can just try this, okay?” He yanks Simon’s hair again, to make it clear. Simon moans, just softly, but Kieren needs more than that.
“Okay, Simon?”
“Yeah, yes.” He replies, nodding then grunting when it causes Kieren’s hands to tighten.
“Okay.”
There’s a moment, then, when neither is quite sure what to do. Kieren’s thumb brushes lightly behind Simon’s ear, then suddenly Simon is leaning forward, pressing his face to Kieren’s hip and breathing against the fabric of his jeans.
He’s waiting for permission, a tiny part of Kieren’s mind suggests. It could be wrong, but the way Simon peers up at him seems evidence enough to the contrary.
“Undo my trousers?” It sounds too much like a question, but Simon’s breath hitches, so it’s good enough for now. His fingers shake minutely as he draws down the fly, pops the button. He glances up at Kieren, who nods, before pushing down Kieren’s boxer briefs and pulling out his purple-flushed cock. He’s still half-hard, but Simon strokes him quickly to full hardness before looking up for further instruction. Simon licks his lips, the action so quick Kieren almost misses it, but its meaning is clear.
“Open your mouth.”
Simon does instantly, a soft groan slipping out even as he guides Kieren’s cock to rest on his lower lip. He flicks his tongue across the soft skin at the head of Kieren’s cock, the sight and sensation making Kieren moan quietly.
“This okay?” Kieren asks again. He needs to be sure, can’t help it when this is completely new territory.
Simon’s tongue flicks out, just brushing the head of Kieren’s cock. It’s the only answer he gives before Kieren’s pushing forward shallowly, the soft pressure of Simon’s inviting mouth a familiar pleasure. What’s new, however, is the way Simon lets Kieren guide him, the hands at the back of his head drawing him closer until he’s bobbing his head, sucking Kieren steadily. The rush of power is heady, but Kieren’s more thrown by the responsibility Simon has given him, the trust implicit in the way he had dropped to his knees, the way he lets Kieren thrust deeper into his mouth.
He wouldn’t trust Simon like this, Kieren recognises. Sure, he could get on his knees and open his mouth to him, but not like this. Not with such eagerness, such willingness to please and serve. He couldn’t give himself up to Simon the way Simon is giving himself up to him. The thought is overwhelming, because how could Simon be so ready to trust him like this at the barest impulse?
Kieren can’t think about it now, can’t weigh the implications of this submission. Instead he grips Simon’s hair tighter, begins to jerk his hips to meet each of Simon’s downward movements. Below him Simon groans, the vibrations sending spikes of heat shivering down Kieren’s spine while Simon swirls his tongue expertly over and around the head of Kieren’s cock. He feels his orgasm build fast, gazing down at the dark smudge of Simon’s lashes closed against his pale cheekbones as he sucks Kieren eagerly. Then he notices the way Simon’s hands are fisted on his thighs.
He’s not touching himself, Kieren realises, because I haven’t told him he can.
A loud moan escapes him, and then he’s coming like it’s been punched out of him, barely managing to warn Simon with a sharp tug to his hair. He had intended to pull Simon off, but it has the opposite effect, Simon sucking harder and swallowing around his cock as Kieren shakes apart. Panting, Kieren stares down as Simon sucks him through the aftershocks, eventually letting his softening cock slip from between his lips.
Simon’s eyes are glassy as Kieren moves one hand slowly around to press a thumb to Simon’s bottom lip, rubbing it along the wet, purplish skin. Unblinking, Simon sucks the digit into his mouth, tongue pressing firmly to the pad of Kieren’s finger. It’s surprisingly erotic, and Kieren feels heat stirring in his gut even so quickly after his orgasm. He draws his finger away, tucking himself back into his pants one-handed, the other still buried in Simon’s hair.
“Touch yourself.” Kieren says, and he’s surprised by just how rough his voice is. Below him Simon makes a soft noise, pressing his forehead to Kieren’s hip as he unceremoniously unbuttons his jeans and shoves a hand into his boxers. Kieren runs his fingers through Simon’s hair as he watches him jerk himself, the movement of his arm rapid and desperate. He’s panting against the fabric of Kieren’s jeans, but he makes a small, needy noise and pushes almost imperceptibly into the hand still pressed to the back of his head.
“Please?”
It’s the first word Simon’s uttered since they began, hitched and breathy against Kieren’s hip. For a moment Kieren isn’t sure what Simon wants, what he needs, but then he remembers what started it all, what brought them to his point. He twines his hands in Simon’s hair and tugs sharply until Simon’s coming with a cry, hand stilling in his shorts. He trembles a little as he comes down, eyes shut and forehead still pressed to Kieren’s hip. Kieren just cards his hands through dark hair, runs soothing fingers over the nape of Simon’s neck until his breathing evens out.
Then he waits.
A part of it is because he’s not entirely sure what to do now, but the other, greater part is centred in a desire to let Simon decide where they’re going to go from here. Kieren knows that Simon lets him lead, and clearly Simon is more than happy to have him in charge. Yet the shame that had clouded Simon’s eyes when he’d first dropped to his knees is still clear in Kieren’s mind. So he waits.
After several long minutes Simon moves, wiping his hand on his jeans before slowly standing up. Kieren lets his hands drop from Simon’s hair, resting them lightly on his hips instead, reluctant to stop touching him. He watches Simon’s face, but Simon won’t meet his eyes. Simon opens his mouth to say something, then seems to think better of it and presses his lips into a thin line. His brow furrows, then he tries again.
“I- uh,” his voice is rough, and Kieren can’t help the short burst of heat at the thought of why, “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to, uh- I didn’t think I’d do that.” It’s strange to hear Simon, usually so eloquent, fumble for words. Kieren smiles, leans up to kiss Simon sweetly on the mouth.
“It’s okay. It was good.” He says. Relief washes over Simon’s features and he finally meets Kieren’s eyes. “We still have to talk about it.” Kieren says, because he has a feeling this won’t be a one-off thing, that maybe Simon wants it more than he’s willing to admit, and these things need boundaries. Simon has gone still, but his eyes seem a little out of focus, like he’s not entirely there.
“But not right now.”
Amy returns just as evening is creeping into the sky, calling out an exaggerated warning that she's coming in and they “better not be naked on any of her gran’s furniture”. She wanders into the living room to find Simon stretched out on the couch, head in Kieren’s lap, having his hair stroked as the pair watched telly.
“Gross little lovebirds, the two of you!” She exclaims, laughing when Simon startls. He had been staring at the screen blankly for the better part of an hour, and while Kieren wanted to attribute that to his own skill at head massages (Jem got terrible migraines when she was stressed), he wasn’t sure that was all there was to it. They hadn’t spoken about what had happened, and he could feel it hanging in the air between them.
It isn't long before Amy is shooing Kieren out of the bungalow, allowing him to press a brief kiss to Simon’s forehead before dragging him to the door by the hand.
“You have to get home, mister, it’s past your curfew and Sue will start to worry we’re leading you down a dangerous path or something.” She says, hugging him tightly on the doorstep. Kieren snorts.
“Amy, it’s barely half-six.”
“Exactly my point.” She responds, tapping his nose as if the matter was settled. He’s chuckling even as he trudges towards the street, waving goodbye to Amy’s silhouette in the doorframe and the dark outline of Simon in the hall behind her. It’s cold out, Kieren assumes, frost starting to cling to the lawns he passes, but he doesn’t hurry home, enjoying the way the last shades of red seep from the clouds as the sky turns to night. He’d always liked dusk, the transition from dark to light, that in-between state that he’d related to during his first life.
As he walks Kieren thinks; he doesn’t even try to delude himself into believing he can ignore what had happened. Every time he blinks the image of Simon dropping so easily to his knees replays against the back of his eyelids, and he finds himself clenching his hands into fists even where they’re buried in his hoodie pockets. The act alone wasn’t so surprising, considering how many times Simon had happily taken up residence at Kieren’s feet to suck him off, but there was no denying that tonight had been different. Simon had exposed himself, let something vulnerable and needy slip out from his armour of words and philosophy.
Kieren had loved it.
Had loved fisting his hands in Simon’s hair and urging him in closer, revelled in every shallow thrust into Simon’s mouth, the way his hands had stayed on his thighs until Kieren had given him permission, permission, to touch himself. The trust implicit in the act was overwhelming, the way Simon had so willingly let himself be moulded by Kieren’s hands and instructions, but that alone wasn’t it.
Even as Kieren walks the deserted streets of Roarton he feels the memories return, fuzzy around the edges like many of his less important ‘living’ recollections, but still there. Rick had been keeping him company one night while his parents were away, staying in the city overnight after Jem had needed an emergency appendectomy. He’d brought his fancy new laptop and spent almost an hour watching shitty punk bands on Youtube with an enraptured Kieren at his side (who was still, at that time, sporting several studded leather wristbands and black nail polish). When he’d gone to have a shower, Kieren had decided to rewatch a few of the earlier videos. Opening up the ‘history’ menu while he sung under his breath about ‘where is your boy tonight’ and ‘I hope he is a gentleman’, Kieren had stumbled across something very different.
Finding porn in a teenage boy’s browser history wasn’t that big a deal. Finding gay porn, on the other hand, was. A thousand questions had shot through Kieren’s mind, most tied to the way Rick had grown prone to staring at his mouth an awful lot, and he’d clicked the first link. The video had started simple; a blonde and a redhead talking on a couch, then kissing, grinding against each other in designer jeans. He’d skipped forward, hoping for he didn’t know what, and the screen had cut to the smaller guy on his knees, arms bound tightly behind his back as the redhead slowly fucked him from behind. Kieren had felt himself flush, felt his teenage body respond instantly, already tight jeans growing even tighter.
Across the hallway the shower squeaked off. Panicking, Kieren exited the window and went back to Youtube, hitting the first video he saw. When Rick had returned, hair still damp, Kieren was staring glassy-eyed at a mundane cat video. He’d laughed, joked about Kieren having a soft side ‘even under all that fake leather’ and plonked back down beside him to pick out a movie from his ‘Not Illegally Downloaded Films’ folder. That night Kieren lay awake, silent and still as he listened to Rick quietly jerk himself off on the mattress on the floor, and the whole time all he could think about was how Rick’s strong arms would look in ropes.
Kieren had never addressed the thoughts, never told anyone about it or tried anything out, and he’d certainly never mentioned it to Rick. Not even the few times Rick had let him touch him in the darkness of the cave, especially considering Rick would never touch him back. But after that night he’d often found himself sketching arms with rope marks on their skin, or shading chafe marks on unidentified wrists. The only computer he had access to was the family one, so porn was a rare commodity, but when he had the house to himself he would explore. A lot of the stuff was too violent for him, the dom so focused on getting what they wanted that there seemed to be no thought given to the sub, but sometimes he found good stuff. A chubby girl tying a tattooed boy to the bed, rimming him until he cried and then pegging him. A lithe, brown-skinned boy blindfolding his tank of a sub and raking nails down his chest as he rode him torturously slow. Kieren always came quickly to these, panting as he bit down on his hand, staining his black jeans, but he loved every second he spent imagining it was him in their position. Rick was the furthest thing from a submissive imaginable, but a boy could dream…
The memories stir something in Kieren, something possessive and protective, as he thinks again of how Simon had leaned so willingly into his touch. He would have never picked it, but there were signs, now that he thought about it, little things in the way Simon worshipped people (God, the Undead Prophet, Kieren) that he now saw with a different perspective. Simon liked to have a purpose, to please people that he admired, respected, loved. It just ran deeper than Kieren had anticipated. The thought sends a shiver down his spine. Simon enjoys serving, his mind whispers treacherously, why not give him someone to serve?
He shakes the thought from his mind as he comes to his driveway, because dominating his zombie lover really isn’t something he should be pondering over family dinner. Still, it lingers in the back of his mind all night, rising to the surface every now and again. He excuses himself to his room after the third time Jem catches him spacing out mid conversation, claiming weariness, but his sister has always been too clever for her own good and she mouths Simon’s name even as Kieren’s heading up the stairs.
That night Kieren does research. He waits until 2am, until his family are all well and truly asleep, before sneaking downstairs and booting up the ancient computer. He really needs to invest in a laptop, Kieren thinks as he opens an incognito window, hesitating briefly before keying in ‘Dom/sub relationship’.
By the time he’s finished it’s almost dawn, and he slinks back up to his room with two printed pages in hand. He then jerks himself off to the thought of Simon’s wrists contrasted with red bonds, but that’s neither here nor there.
They don’t mention it for almost a week.
True, they only see each other a few times, and usually in the company of Kieren’s family (Sue has become prone to inviting Simon to dinners he can’t eat) but the fact remains. Amy asks about it, when they’re out visiting Rick and her Grandmother.
“Are you and Simon good?” She says, newly warm breath puffing out in little clouds in front of her. Kieren frowns, more out of concern than anything else.
“Yes. Did he say something?” Amy shakes her head, cheeks pink and flush in the morning chill.
“Nah, he just seemed a little spaced out lately.” She says, then brightens, “But hey, he’s always been an oddball, that boy of ours. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
Still, Kieren’s not entirely sure what to say, remembering the way Simon had stayed quiet for almost an hour after the event, reluctant to leave Kieren’s presence the whole time. The conversation lingers at the back of his mind for days, and he finds himself touching Simon more frequently in the interim – a hand on his forearm, their knees touching under the table. Little things, just to make sure Simon knows he’s still there. Simon must notice the attention, arches his eyebrows in surprise a few times, but doesn’t say anything.
It’s not until Kieren’s sketching on one of the couches at the bungalow, Simon slouched in an armchair reading, that he decides to bring it up. He flicks fingertips over the corners of the two pages slipped into the back of his sketchbook.
“Simon?” Kieren waits for Simon to look up and, marking his page, close his book. “The other day… when you, you know.” Simon’s eyes flit away, chin ducking and the line of his shoulders tensing as Kieren fumbles the words. It’s the opposite of what Kieren wants, this clear withdrawal, so he exhales slowly and speaks the next words clear and calm into the now charged air between them.
“Did you want that to be a one-time thing?”
Simon’s head quirks up, catching Kieren’s gaze, clearly not having expected that particular question. He doesn’t say anything though, mouth pressed into a thin line while his fingers skitter restlessly over the cover of his book.
“We can forget about it, if you want. I’m okay with that.” Kieren continues, knowing he has Simon’s undivided, nervous attention. “But I’m also more than willing to try it again. Provided we talk about it first, set boundaries, all that stuff. I just need to know what you want.” Again Simon shifts, eyebrows furrowed while he stares at his lap, as if the worn fabric of his trousers are going to give him the answer to Kieren’s question.
Kieren’s almost ready to drop it, to pretend he never said anything about the issue, when Simon finally speaks up.
“I want to try more.” Simon’s head is still bowed but the response is clear.
“Okay.” Kieren says, unable to help the small smile that quirks at his lips. The way Simon’s fingers worry at the spine of his book is endearing, despite his clear anxiety, which Kieren wants desperately to alleviate. “Well, first things first; I have no idea what I’m doing. I mean, I did research, looked into… well, everything, really. But I’ve never done this kind of thing before, so you’re pretty much going to have to tell me what you want and how you want it.”
Across the room Simon’s eyes are wide, lips parted as if he meant to say something, a look of awe and surprise colouring his pale features. Kieren frowns. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I just- I didn’t expect you to be so… on board.” He says it like a question, the corner of his mouth jumping up in a brief smile as he watches Kieren. “I mean, I’ve been told I’m not the most obvious sub, so sometimes I can… well, I’ve had some less than enthusiastic responses.” The self-deprecating tone grates at Kieren, but he says nothing, knows that now isn’t the time.
“I guess you’ll have to get used to me being on board.” He says, pulling a short chuckle from Simon, “Come here?” Kieren doesn’t expect Simon to jump to obey, and Simon doesn’t, eyebrows quirking as he rises and slowly strides across the room to drop onto the couch beside Kieren. Flipping to the last pages of his sketchbook, Kieren draws two sheafs of paper from where they’re pressed to the back cover, handing one to Simon. He can’t hold back a smirk when Simon’s eyes flit from the page to his face, a mix of shock and mild admiration shining there.
“You keep sex lists with your art supplies?” he asks incredulously, though there’s a teasing lilt to his voice. Kieren kisses him, brief and chaste.
“Only for you.” He snarks back. “All the sites I went on recommended filling one out when you try this kind of stuff out for the first time, so I figured it was our best bet.” Something has changed in Simon’s face, a strange expression that Kieren can’t interpret clouding his eyes.
“Is that okay? I mean, you don’t have to fill it out if it makes you uncomfortable-”
“No, it’s not that, the sheet’s fine.” His mouth quirks down, “People don’t usually go to that much effort, is all.”
A surge of possessiveness rises in Kieren like a cresting wave, furious that Simon sees the most basic of efforts as a luxury, especially when it comes to something as personal, as vulnerable, as his own submission. Kieren opens his mouth to reply, to tell him that no, you are worth every effort, but the thinly-veiled excitement with which Simon is reading down the list in his hands stops him. Not now, Kieren thinks, save it for when he will believe it. Instead he leans towards the coffee table for one of the many pencils he keeps there in a tiny cat-shaped cup, one of Amy’s particular favourites. Taking one for himself, he rummages around for a pen for Simon, who has a distinct preference for ink over graphite.
“I guess you know the drill.” With another short kiss he presses the pen into Simon’s hand, then moves back to fill in his own sheet. It’s split into four columns, the first listing many basic (and some not-so-basic) kinks, followed by a ‘yes’, ‘no’ and ‘maybe’ column for each. At the bottom there are a few other questions, covering safewords, aftercare and the like. Beginning at the top he works his way down, the majority of his ticks going into the ‘maybe’ column, a few littering the ‘yes’ and ‘no’ ones. He tries not to be nosy, but can’t help noticing the way Simon seems to hesitate every other minute, pen hovering over the page before making a small mark. Kieren finishes first by a long way, however he sits quietly and lets Simon take his time to finish, moving back up the sheet several times to revisit initial answers.
Eventually they’re both done, and Simon tentatively offers his page to Kieren, who replaces it with his own. Kieren wriggles closer, until their thighs are pressed together, and scans down Simon’s list. There’s a small, neat ‘S’ in the ‘yes’ column for ‘Dominance and Submission”, which comes as no surprise, along with several ticks for edging, fingering, rimming and toys. Water sports and scat are both in the no column, to Kieren’s massive relief, as are knife and electric play and name-calling. In the ‘aftercare’ section at the bottom Simon’s neat print reads ‘Immediately after scenes’, and a part of Kieren drops at the thought of how adrift Simon had seemed for almost an hour after their encounter days prior. He pushes the thought away, promising that he would never make that mistake again, and goes back to the list. There’s a scribbled out tick in one of the ‘maybe’ boxes, and Kieren reads across to see it has been replaced by a cross in the ‘no’ column beside bondage/restrains. Simon had told him about the treatment centre, a bare to the bones description of what they had done to him, but it was more than enough for Kieren not to question the decision.
“What are the question marks for?” Kieren inquires after a minute, having noticed the curved little symbols in a few places under the ‘yes’ column. Simon leans over, looking down at where Kieren is pointing to one of them. It’s next to spanking.
“They’re things I used to like, before.” He supplies, leaving off the implied I died at the end. “But because most of them are focussed on pain, I’m not sure if I’ll still be into them, what with us not feeling it anymore.” Simon points to another of the question marks, higher up the list, “And I still like the idea of breath play, but again, we don’t really need to breathe so it might not have the same effect.”
Kieren nods, “So you’re okay with trying them, but it’s not guaranteed you’ll still get anything out of them. Okay.” He then turns to look at Simon, bringing their faces suddenly very close. Simon exhales, the air ghosting across Kieren’s lips. “Any questions about mine?” Kieren says softly, which seems to bring Simon back to the moment as he turns now to the sheet in his own hands.
“You have restraints in the yes column.” He says simply, voice devoid of any inflection. It’s the one he uses when he thinks he’s going to be refused, and that sends a sharp stab of hurt through Kieren at its implications.
“And you have it down as a no, so we won’t do it. I’m not going to ask you to do anything you don’t want to, Simon.”
“I know.” Simon says. The pleased undertone in his voice says otherwise, but Kieren lets it go for now, pressing a reassuring kiss to Simon’s shoulder. “It’s just that I used to like it, you know; being held down or tied up. So, maybe later we could try something. I just want to make sure you know it’s not off the table entirely.”
“Alright.” Kieren says slowly, not wanting to deny Simon but also not wanting to let him think that he had to compromise his own limits for Kieren’s pleasure. “But not until we’re more comfortable with this, okay? And not until we’re both ready.” Simon nods at that, the tiniest amount of relief in his white eyes.
“The only other thing would be how you want me to address you, I guess.” Kieren feels his eyes widen a little at that, surprised both by Simon’s bluntness and the fact that he hadn’t ever thought of it himself.
“I’m not sure.” He admits. Simon shrugs at that, as if they were discussing the weather and not what he would call Kieren when he was on his knees.
“Sir is the most popular, but some guys prefer master or something else.” The titles slip easily from Simon’s lips, but they sound almost aggressive to Kieren, heavy indicators of authority and control. Sure, that’s kind of the point, but Kieren doesn’t know how he feels about such rigid, formal titles for such a personal thing.
“I’d rather you just called me by my name, to be honest. I mean, we could try sir if you want,” But Simon’s already shaking his head.
“No, just Kieren.” He agrees. Kieren smiles at that, because this all seems to be going so much smoother than he had thought it would. He’s double checking their lists, making sure there are no other questions to raise, when he notices a blank spot on Simon’s he’d missed on his first read-through.
“You don’t have any safewords listed.” He puzzles, because that’s a pretty damn important thing to leave out. “Do you just use the general red, yellow, green indicators or…?” He leaves the question open, hoping Simon will fill the gap.
Simon’s looking at a point just above Kieren’s left ear, avoiding his eyes as he answers. “I didn’t really use them that much, to be honest. I was usually too fucked up to care, let alone remember any.”
“That’s really unsafe.” There’s a sharpness to his voice that wasn’t entirely intentional, but Kieren can’t help the stab of anger at how reckless, not to mention dangerous, it would be for Simon to have submitted without any set safewords. Added to his drug-addled state and the high probability that his dom would have been the same, Kieren has to work to push down the anger building in his gut. Telling Simon off isn’t going to change anything now.
“Yeah, well, that’s what I’ve got you for. Keep me in line and all that.” It’s said like a joke, but Kieren hears the double meaning, knows the responsibility it entails.
“We’ll use the traffic light system then, if that’s okay with you.” Simon nods in response, knowing that it’s not a question. With an air of finality Kieren takes his sheet back from Simon and folds the two together, slipping them back in-between the pages of his sketchbook. There’s a strange look in Simon’s eyes, a mix of excitement and confusion, but it sways towards the latter when Kieren starts to resettle on the couch, flipping to a clean page to begin a new drawing. Kieren waits it out, knowing what Simon’s going to ask.
“We’re not starting now?” He says eventually, a hint of disappointment hanging from the last few syllables.
“Not unless you want Amy walking in on you bent over my knee or something.”
Simon makes a face that, in life, would have probably been accompanied by a blush. “Yeah, no. That’s cool.” He says, voice the tiniest bit strained, and Kieren waits until his back is turned before letting a smirk curl on his lips. Simon gets up, bending down for a slow kiss, one arm braced on the couch armrest, before wandering back to his armchair. He opens his book, but Kieren notices how infrequently he turns a page, eyes constantly wandering to a vague point on the ground by Kieren’s feet. Kieren says nothing – if Simon wants to be there, let him come of his own accord.
When Amy gets home half an hour later Simon’s still in his armchair pretending to read. Kieren’s not disappointed – he’s elated, really, at everything Simon has offered him, every possibility before them – and he knows Simon will come to him willingly in time.
“I’m making dinner!” Amy proclaims, lifting two small shopping bags triumphantly in the air. “Lamb’s brains, dumb dumbs, so you can actually eat some.” She adds when they both stare at her in wary confusion, then sashays into the kitchen, skirts swishing about her ankles.
“Amy, it’s two in the afternoon.” Simon calls after her, but they can already hear her pulling out pans and lighting the oven. It’s not long before they’re all in the kitchen, Kieren acting as ‘First Assistant Chef’ with the duties of handing Amy various cooking implements. Simon’s later named ‘Honorary Kitchen Eyecandy’, and Kieren catches him smiling fondly at him and Amy while they work. Eventually their meal is ready; for Amy a full plate of meat and vegetables, plus potatoes diligently mashed by the Eyecandy, and an eggcup of diced lambs brain for Kieren and Simon.
Kieren can’t actually taste the meat, but the look on Amy’s face is well worth the strange sensation of actually eating for the first time in years. Across the table Simon picks at his, only eating a few mouthfuls before subtly pushing the eggcup away. Amy talks at length about her day, Phillip and the offer from Shirley to be trained as a PDS Carer, something she’s of two minds about.
“On the one hand, I want to help us, you know? Have someone on our side who knows what they’re doing. But what if it just did more harm than good, what with me being ex-commune? I don’t know.” Though Simon’s lip curls into a scowl at the idea, neither he nor Kieren corrects her use of ‘we’. She’s been human for some time now; eating, getting cold at night, yelping in pain whenever she gives herself a paper cut. But she won’t talk about the treatment centre where she woke up after Halperin and Weston exhumed her body. She knows she’s alive, but she won’t yet call herself one of the living.
“Oh, by the way,” She says through a mouthful of potatoes, “Phillip is taking me to London this weekend for a romantic getaway.” The last two words are drawn out, Amy waggling her eyebrows suggestively while Kieren mimes throwing up. “We’re going to visit the Tower of London and everything, see where people used to get the chop.”
“He sure knows the way to a woman’s heart.” Simon quips, though his eyes are soft.
“Historical sights tend to work better than snogging my best friend in the street, oddly enough, but you did your best to woo me.” A familiar twinge of guilt hits Kieren, but he knows she means no harm, winking at him when she next catches his eye. “But you know, romantic weekends can be held at home too!” She adds, watching Simon as he collects her plate and rinses it in the sink.
Kieren doesn’t miss the hungry glance Simon shoots him at the suggestion.
Amy drops by the Walker house the next morning, beaming when she notices Jem’s wearing the flannel Batman pyjama pants she’d bought her. Jem feigns disinterest when Amy suggests a spa day, but Kieren sees the small smile lingering on his sister’s face when she makes her way back upstairs to change.
“You look ravishing, as always. Are those new jammies?” Amy remarks, dropping into the seat Jem had just vacated and plucking a slice of toast from his plate. Sue still forgets some mornings, making four breakfasts out of habit (it makes Kieren wonder what she did when he was gone).
“Yes, someone very beautiful and clever gave them to me to ‘liven up the bedroom’.” He deadpans. Amy smiles and plucks lint off the shoulder of his cookie monster pyjama shirt. She had a pyjama thing, no one bothered questioning it.
“Too true. But, alas, I am not just here to compliment you on your marvellous choice of sleepwear.” She rummages through the messenger bag slung across her shoulder, withdrawing a heavy book with a black cover. “You left this yesterday. Simon was going to bring it, but I was heading to Phillip’s anyway.” It’s his sketchpad, Kieren realises as Amy passes it to him. He bites his lip.
“You didn’t… look through it, did you?”
“Of course not, dum-dum! Gran always said art was very personal – an extension of the artists’ own soul.”
“She sounds lovely.” Kieren says, hoping the vague relief he feels doesn’t show.
“You should have heard her talk about bus fares. She could swear a mile a minute when she wanted to, my gran.” Amy laughs, a faraway look on her face. When she looks back at Kieren she frowns, eyes locked onto a point somewhere by Kieren’s nose.
“What?”
“Is that-” She reaches out, her hand quicker than Kieren’s, to wipe something from above his lip. When she draws away Kieren sees the dark stains on her hand, reaches up to touch just under his nose, his fingertips coming away black. He makes a face and wipes the gunk on a napkin, pressing it to his nose. When he turns back, however, Amy is beaming between the blackness on her fingers and his face.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I just…” She shakes her head, giggling a little while rubbing her fingers against her skirt. “You’re coming back.”
Then she stands, shoving the last of her toast into her mouth and linking her arm in Kieren’s, dragging him up so he can walk her to the door. “I’d best be off then, Phillip loves when things arrive on time. Oh, and ask Jem if she wants me to get her anything in London! Maybe some new lipstick, she’d look great in plum.”
With a peck on the cheek Amy’s out the door, smiling at Steve as she passes and giving a thumbs-up when he points out how well his geraniums are growing.