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“I want to apologize.”
They’re laying side-by-side on their cots. Neither of them are looking at each other.
“Okay. Don’t. It doesn’t mean shit to me.”
Simon sighs. “But there’s nothing else I can do. There’s nothing I can do to fix you, or make it up to you, or…”
“Yeah. Exactly. So don’t bother.”
Jack’s words hang in the air for several long moments as Simon’s thoughts churn. He’s just tired—tired of everything, including this sickening guilt that creeps back into his chest whenever he’s too present for too long. Hearing Jack’s voice and seeing his face only makes it worse. He wants to do something.
He needs to do something. Some kind of absolution, no matter how absurd.
Simon sits up, turns to look at Jack, and blurts out, “Can I suck your dick?”
Jack doesn’t even flinch. “You better not have said what I think you just said,” he responds, in a low and almost threatening tone.
“You heard me.” Simon has always been too stubborn for his own good. He can’t help it. Once a thought gets in his brain—no matter how foolish—it just sticks. “Don’t tell me all the stars died and you still give a shit about whether or not a man likes dick.”
“Do you?” Jack questions, sounding exasperated.
“Like dick?” Simon shrugs, then remembers that Jack can’t see him, and amends, “I dunno. It’s something to pass the time, I guess.”
“Something to pass the time,” Jack repeats, slowly. “Is this just another fucked up way to apologize for killing me?”
For a moment, Simon considers lying. Then, he says, “Yeah.”
“Just, ‘oh, sorry for blasting you with radiation, here’s a BJ to make up for it’, is that what you’re thinking?” Jack drawls, slowly pushing himself up onto his elbows.
Simon now really considers lying. “More or less,” he answers instead.
“You’re a piece of work, convict.” Jack sits all the way up and swings his legs over the side of the bed with a pained grunt. “But… what the hell, sure.”
Simon blinks. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. “What?”
“I said ‘sure’. Now, get on your knees before I change my mind.” Jack points at the spot of floor in front of him, his expression steely. “If you’re just gawking at me right now, I’m sure you look like a real moron.”
Simon swallows thickly and hops down off of his cot. “Yeah. Okay. Okay.” He hesitates for a moment, then grabs the thin pillow from his bed and tosses it to the ground at Jack’s feet.
Jack makes a clucking noise at him. “Chicken?”
Heat rises to Simon’s cheeks. He’s flustered. Why is he flustered? He’s done this before. It’s transactional. That’s all it is. “Fuck off. Just trying not to bust my knees.”
Jack scoffs. “Why bother? Both of our bodies are fucked anyway.”
“Do you want your dick sucked or not?” Simon snaps, looking down at Jack. “I just offered. You didn’t have to say yes.”
“Whatever.”
Simon’s balance is all off, it has been since Ava pulled him out of the sub, and his legs are shaking violently now. “I’m gonna touch your leg. Don’t jump.”
Jack nods, and Simon places his hand on Jack’s knee to help guide himself down to the ground. It’s strange how solid he feels beneath Simon’s touch, despite malnutrition and the radiation and God knows what else. He’s there, and he’s real, and Simon is touching him.
Simon draws in a shuddering breath. “So, uh… you gonna get your dick out or what? Because it’s kind of difficult to do one-handed.”
“Fuck, yeah, hang on, dammit—” Jack fumbles for a moment with his trousers, tugging the velcro free with a loud rip. “Thank God for velcro, though, right?”
“Thank whoever fucking made velcro,” Simon agrees. “Can you imagine trying to get in and out of jeans one-handed? Pissing would be like a goddamn Olympic sport.”
Jack snorts a laugh. “Goddammit. That wasn’t even funny.”
“Awh, you like my bad jokes, that’s cute,” Simon taunts.
“Fuck off.” Jack reaches out and lightly pushes Simon’s head away, almost playfully. Simon chuckles. “Asshole.” Then, as if he remembers he’s supposed to hate him, Jack’s mouth tightens into a firm line. “Whatever. Let’s get on with it.” In a practiced, casual motion, he reaches into his boxers and fishes out his cock.
It’s a pretty average, unremarkable cock, but Simon isn’t disappointed. He would be a fool to complain after he put himself here. As long as he can fit it in his mouth, he won’t complain.
Simon shuffles forward, sliding his hand up Jack’s thigh until he can brace his stump against Jack’s other knee. “Let me,” he says, and he reaches to replace Jack’s hand with his own.
Jack pulls his hand back, and he says nothing, but his breath hitches minutely as Simon’s hand closes around his shaft. He’s half-hard already, which Simon figures is just because he hasn’t gotten any action at least since Simon woke up. Though, Simon’s also self-aware enough to admit that beneath the burn scars and tumours and general grime, he’s not half-bad to look at.
Then, Simon glances back up at Jack’s face, and remembers that that doesn’t matter.
“I used to be handsome, you know,” Simon tells him, conversationally, as he coaxes Jack’s cock to full hardness with the gentle stroking of his thumb.
“Is that so?” Jack sounds oddly curious.
“Yeah,” Simon answers. “Not too pale, strong jaw, big muscles…” He starts to put his wrist into it, rhythmically yet slowly jerking Jack off and relishing in how he can feel the blood filling up his cock in real time. “Sexy dark eyes. Long hair… man-bun, if you’re into that kind of thing. Massive pecs.”
“Mm-hm.” Jack’s response is a little breathless. “I got it. I can picture it. Tall?”
“Obviously,” Simon replies, immediately. Then, he reconsiders. “Well… I mean, yes. For sure. Tall.”
“Doesn’t sound like— fuck.”
Simon cuts Jack off by leaning in and flicking his tongue over the head of his dick. It works even better than he’d anticipated, as Jack gasps and grips the edge of the mattress so hard his knuckles turn white.
“Simon.”
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” Simon teases, a shit-eating grin on his face as he looks up at the blood rushing to Jack’s cheeks. He slides his fist down to the base of Jack’s cock to toy with his balls, then goes in again slowly to circle his tongue around the tip at the same time.
Jack inhales so fiercely it triggers a handful of coughs, but luckily they’re over quickly. “Christ,” he swears, loudly. “Can I grab your hair?”
Simon licks his lips. “Sure,” he says. “If you can find anything there to grab.” Apparently it was so matted with dried blood and viscera when he came in that they had no choice but to shave it all off. He still mourns it, but at least there’s no mirror to see how hideous he must look now.
As quick as a whip, Jack’s hands are on the back of Simon’s head, clawing through the remnants of his hair and forcing him closer to his crotch. Simon isn’t in the mood to fight, now, so he obeys the unspoken demand and parts his lips to take Jack’s dick into his mouth proper.
Jack tastes bad, but the ocean of blood tasted worse. It’s not his fault they only get shower rations once a week. Simon can take it.
And take it he does. After choking on so much viscera in the sub, Jack’s cock slides easily into his throat as Simon takes it all the way down in one continuous motion. His nose brushes his own index finger around the base of Jack’s dick, and Jack keens.
“God— my God, Simon,” Jack splutters. “You feel good. You feel so fucking good, dammit— you’re good.”
Pride floods through Simon’s body, and his trousers grow tighter. All he wants is to be good, really; even if he can only achieve it on his knees, he’ll take it.
Simon slowly pulls back, dragging his tongue along the underside of Jack’s shaft, and Jack bucks into his mouth, hard. And Simon takes it, because he’s good; he keeps taking it as Jack begins to deliberately thrust, nice and slow at first, but Simon bobs his head, urging him to go faster.
Jack’s blunt nails scratch at the back of Simon’s head, and it’s weirdly soothing; it’s a sort of dull pain that feels foreign now, after so much agony, and it’s controlled. It’s grounding. It reminds him of better days and forbidden things in bathroom stalls. Somewhere he can never go back to.
It doesn’t take long before Jack is openly moaning and fucking Simon’s face. Simon’s throat burns, but he likes it, it makes him feel alive, and his eyes are watering but he forces them to stay open. He doesn’t want to lose this. He doesn’t want to slip into another dark place and find himself back in the sub with blood filling his mouth instead; he wants to stay here. He needs to stay here.
“Close—” Jack chokes out, and his grip loosens, allowing Simon to pull back if he chooses to. “Fuck, Simon—”
Simon stays put.
Most of Jack’s cum spills directly into his throat, but some splashes back and hits his taste buds, and Simon has never been so happy to taste the bitter salt of semen. It’s still not pleasant, but it’s not blood. It’s too thick, too, to be blood.
Simon licks Jack’s dick clean as he pulls off, and Jack shudders above him.
“Holy Christ,” Jack croaks. “You can go— uh, I won’t be offended if you go spit that out—”
“Too late.” Simon hopes his grin comes across in his tone. “Already gone.”
Jack shudders again. “Eugh. You’re disgusting.”
“Hey, your dick doesn’t exactly taste like candy to begin with,” Simon snorts, “and I’ve swallowed worse.”
Jack is quiet for a moment. Then, he says, “I don’t really do this kind of shit. Am I supposed to, like, return the favour, or—”
“Nah.” Simon reaches down to adjust his trousers, taking some of the pressure off of his insistent erection. “This was about you, remember? Penance, and shit.”
“Right. Penance.” Jack’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. “And… what if I don’t think one BJ’s enough to make up for giving me turbo-cancer?”
“Well, then,” Simon replies, in his best nonchalant, musing tone, “I guess we’ll just have to do this again.”