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There’s an odd level of intimacy between Mattias and Simeon for two people who share an amount mutual distrust. It started with Mattias finding himself comfortably sprawling out across a piece of Simeon’s expensive furniture while they drank together, and from there was a gradual escalation of closeness. Banter, countless what if statements, some touching—all adding up again and again until it was a nearly nightly routine for Simeon to eventually get up after two or three glasses of wine and make his way over to the other man to sit atop him and allow his hands and his mouth to wander.
Mattias doesn’t trust him any further than he could throw him, and he doubts his own ability to throw another adult very far (or at all, really). He doesn’t know why he allows this, especially so easily, but he prefers not to reflect on it. It’s difficult enough anyway to keep his thoughts in order with Simeon settling onto his lap and grinning while playing with the hem of his shirt.
“You’re quite beautiful when you’re beneath me,” Simeon comments.
“So you’ve said,” Mattias replies, feigning indifference the best he’s able.
“I enjoy reminding you.” Because he knows how it gets to Mattias, whether he gets a visible response or not, but he doesn’t say that part. He doesn’t have to—it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.
Mattias doesn’t get a chance to say anything before Simeon kisses him. It’s gentle at first, almost loving, but it’s only a precursor to the pain yet to come. Something about it being poetic for two people who don’t love each other, have no capacity to truly love anyone, sharing something tender only for it to devolve into a fervent, carnal need. Mattias doesn’t particularly care about the supposed profound intricacies so long as he has the taste of blood and the feeling of teeth breaking through his skin to look forward to.
Whatever Simeon’s goal with all of this is remains a mystery. It’s yet to go further than kissing and a bit of groping, because he always stops before it exceeds that. He’s an enigmatic man infatuated with the careful art of observing and planning and meticulously setting up pointlessly elaborate schemes to get what he wants—and while admirable in some respects, the drawn-out nature of it all is endlessly frustrating (but perhaps it’s frustrating by design rather than as a consequence).
It’s difficult to believe Simeon doesn’t want to strip the ex-priest down and fuck him, that it’s not taking an impressive amount of patience and restraint to keep from it—but he’s also a man who values perfection and has fun toying with others. What is the point of continuing to do this if not for it to go somewhere eventually? But when is eventually? How long is Mattias expected to wait?
Though maybe, he realizes with a touch of some unidentifiable emotion, he would be willing to wait forever on an implied promise. Every night once Simeon has had enough to be satisfied and slides gracefully off of Mattias’s lap, Mattias is left to count down the minutes, the seconds, until he can be back in his own bedroom so he can finally collapse into his bed and think about everything that transpired earlier that evening as he clumsily shoves a hand down his pants. Tonight will be no different, and it occurs to him now that he’s in so far over his head that he would be willing to wait a very long time for this to finally pay off with something more.
A sharp, metallic tang hits Mattias’s tongue, and he groans in response. He does his best to seem as unaffected as he can, but regardless of the power he holds, he’s still only human (for now). He has his breaking points and this is one of them.
Simeon bites his lip harder, then sucks on it until the force of the suction hurts. When he pulls back, he’s flushed and his breathing has picked up ever so slightly, but he’s still grinning. He looks smug, self-satisfied, like Mattias is playing right into his hands. That should make Mattias angry, but instead all it does is send another wave of arousal through him.
“It’s adorable how easy you are,” Simeon teases.
Mattias lets out a small, exasperated huff. “Hardly.”
“But aren’t you? You look a bit riled up. Am I mistaken somehow?”
Wearing away at a man for weeks hardly allows for any right to call him ‘easy.’ But no, admitting his defenses have been whittled down isn’t a smart idea.
“Isn’t it normal to react a bit when you’re kissed like that?” Mattias says instead.
“I’d say I’m less of a mess than you. You always seem…” Simeon begins properly pulling at the buttons of the other’s clothes, slowly undoing them one at a time. “…desperate.”
“That’s only natural when this has been going on for so long, I’d say.”
“So I’m making you want me more and more each time, is what you’re saying?”
He is. Oh, gods, is he ever.
“I don’t recall saying that,” Mattias says.
Simeon laughs, light and cheerful. “You didn’t need to.” His fingertips ghost across Mattias’s chest, eliciting a shiver the ex-priest can’t manage to suppress. “I can tell.”
“Why haven’t you fucked me yet, then?”
“So vulgar, Mattias.”
“I don’t want to hear about vulgarity from the man who made a routine out of groping me and kissing me breathless.”
“Fair enough, I suppose.” He moves his fingers lower, gently feeling the flat of Mattias’s stomach. “You’d like the reason?”
“I don’t ask questions I don’t want the answers to.”
Simeon leans in and presses a kiss to the other man’s neck. “I spend every night thinking about all the little reactions you give me, and all the things I want to do with you. You are a magnificently intriguing person, Mattias. The truth is, I don’t think I’d last long at all, and that would be terribly embarrassing. I’m so quick even on my own, because thinking about having you under me and everything I could do…” His sentence trails off into heavy breathing, punctuated with a few overly dramatic moans, and then he starts giggling. “No, I’m joking, of course.”
For some reason, the performative gasping and panting and moaning did something. Either Mattias’s standards are lower than he thought or he’s been underestimating how desperate he is. (And for someone who’s never had sex before, it’s odd to suddenly need it so badly when his own hand has been perfectly sufficient up until very recently.)
“I’m not exactly in the mood for your games,” Mattias says.
“That much is clear.” Simeon grinds down against the ex-priest, his own need made obvious by the action. “However, if it makes any difference to you, the only part I was joking about was when I said I’d be embarrassed about finishing too quickly. I wouldn’t be. I meant it entirely when I said I get myself off every single night thinking about you, Mattias.”
A shiver runs through Mattias’s whole body. “Then why haven’t you taken me yet?” he asks, and he hates the way his voice trembles ever so slightly.
“Because it’s entertaining to watch you get more and more desperate. I have no reason for impatience when I know I’ll get what I want eventually, but there’s no way for you to ascertain when or if the waiting will ultimately be worth it. I know I’m getting my reward. You have no idea if you’re getting yours.”
“Bastard.”
“Undeniably so.” He squeezes at Mattias’s hips, grinding down again and letting out a gasp—genuine, this time, or at the very least close enough to genuine. “Tell me, Mattias, do you believe you’ll get what you want tonight?”
“You’re frustratingly unpredictable. I’d have no way to guess.”
“The answer is yes. I will oblige you.”
The statement comes with no raised expectations. Mattias knows better than to take anything Simeon says at face value, so he stays silent and merely nods skeptically.
“You don’t trust me,” Simeon says. He sounds more entertained than anything.
“You haven’t given me much reason to.”
“This is true.” He begins tugging at Mattias’s belt. “But I’ll follow through this time. I promise.”
Something’s off. Something is just a little bit wrong. It isn’t significant enough for Mattias to be able to pinpoint, but it’s also massively important at the same time.
What the fuck is so important? He’s forgetting something. He doesn’t forget things.
“Oh,” Mattias says a few seconds later, once the lightbulb goes off in his head, “you’re not going to get what you’re expecting.”
“I don’t mind. I’ve been around enough to know that everyone is unique in their own ways.”
“I don’t think you understand what I’m saying.”
“I do.” Simeon sits up, stops all contact aside from where he’s sitting atop the other. “I’ll admit I may be somewhat out of my comfort zone with you,” and the way he says it, along with the emphasis, holds no semblance of the othering Mattias has grown well acquainted with, “but I was already prepared for that.”
“Is that meant to be flattery?”
“No, merely the truth.” Simeon gets to his feet and holds out his hand. “Come, now, Mattias, here is not the place to get too carried away.”
If that’s the case, the belt should have been left alone. It’s for show so it makes no difference, but still.
Mattias makes a point to reject the hand outstretched to him and gets up on his own, his legs the slightest bit shaky. He can feel how damp his underwear has gotten already, and it’s only a matter of time before his composure completely falls to pieces. What that will look like is unclear, but by this point it’s inevitable.
“You know,” Simeon says, taking the other’s hand in a way that’s far too amicable to guide him along, “you’re a unique case, by all accounts. This is going to be a strange encounter for me.”
Mattias rolls his eyes. “Surely that could never make me feel strange or uncomfortable about my body.”
“No, no, Mattias, you misunderstand. It’s nothing to do with your body at all. Not directly, at least.” He turns a corner with a dramatic flair wholly unnecessary for navigating one’s own residence. “This is the first time I’ve had any concern for another’s pleasure. You’re more than an object for my convenience.”
Empty flattery. No doubt Simeon has never seen anyone he’s slept with as more than a toy to get himself off with—that part is not only entirely believable, but the only thing that could be the truth. However, no matter how it’s dressed up, Mattias is no different. People are not people to Simeon. It’s neither a judgment nor a condemnation, but instead an innocent observation.
It doesn’t bother Mattias. His view of others is somewhat different, but consequentially identical. To him, people are people, not dolls or toys, but they’re beneath him and he has no qualms about using them to get what he wants. Mattias is near enough a god without much regard for humans, and Simeon is a puppet master without much regard for his playthings.
They aren’t so different. Mattias can see his own tricks in Simeon.
That’s why the weakness in Mattias’s knees at the other’s flattery comes with self-directed disdain.
When Simeon opens his bedroom door, he lets go of Mattias’s hand, turns around, and throws his arms out as though making a significant reveal. As though the ex-priest hasn’t seen his room before. As though he’s not familiar enough with how to navigate the entire place to have considered if the potential damage to his pride was worth trying to slip into this very bedroom long enough to get himself off (though in the end, the risk always outweighed the possible reward).
But it is set up a bit differently tonight. Everything is so incredibly deliberate, if the lit candles by the bedside and the mess of rose petals on the floor around the bed are anything to go by.
Mattias aches with how much he needs to be touched.
“This is certainly a display you set up,” Mattias comments. “What would you have done if I hadn’t been interested?”
“That’s been outside the realm of possibility for a while now.”
“Has it truly? What if I’d been too shy?”
“You aren’t shy. It’s pride, not shyness, that’s kept you from begging me to take you, isn’t it? Without that ego of yours in the way, you already would have been asking me to make you mine.”
“Is that not what you want to do?”
“It is. But it’s also what you want.”
“What’s the point in dragging this out?”
Simeon grins, takes the other’s hand again, begins pulling him over to the bed. “Because I want you desperate, Mattias. Why else?” He shoves the ex-priest down on the bed, and he lands with a small gasp. “And from the looks of it, you’re close enough to being there.”
“I doubt that.”
“Right, of course. Not at all.”
Simeon gets to work on Mattias’s clothes, tugging at his shirt to get it off, then kneeling to take his shoes off. There’s a muffled sort of reverence in it. It makes Mattias feel, if only for a moment, that he is not an object to him, that he’s a person with thoughts and feelings worth giving credence to. It does wonders for his ego, and it makes something stir inside him.
(How embarrassing.)
“You’re excited for this, aren’t you?” Simeon asks as he strips the other of his pants and sets them aside with far more care than necessary.
Mattias could try to deny it, but he knows he’s soaked through his underwear too obviously. It’s difficult enough not asking for more or reaching between his legs to touch himself. To deny how badly he wants this could only backfire.
“You’ve kept me waiting quite a while. My patience can only last so long.”
“Oh, how terribly sorry I am for making you wait,” but his tone is full of condescension and is anything but apologetic. “I enjoy savoring the finer things. Is that so wrong?”
“Wrong or not, it’s irritating as hell.”
“Predictably.” Simeon puts a hand on each of the other’s thighs to push his legs apart a little more, then leans forward to run his tongue over the damp spot on his underwear. “Tell me, have you ever been with another man before?”
“I’ve never been with anyone before. I’ve never had any need to.”
“Oh, so you’re a virgin?”
“That’s a fairly useless word, as far as I’m concerned.”
“But you are a virgin. I had no idea I would be given the honor of being your first.”
Surely there’s nothing that special about having sex with someone who lacks experience. Mattias knows well enough what to do and how to proceed, but he’s never put any of that knowledge to use before. If anything, this seems like the perfect setup for a thoroughly underwhelming sexual encounter.
And it might be, if not for Simeon’s ability to always come prepared for the unexpected. He can adjust his plans as he sees fit without any hiccups or setbacks. This is nothing to him.
“I’m excruciatingly curious,” Simeon continues, sitting back a fraction to begin undoing everything holding his own outfit together, “to know what you think about when you’re alone, and what you do to yourself. Where do you touch? Are you rough with yourself? What do you think about me doing to you? Do you ever say my name when the pleasure gets to be too much?”
Mattias’s thighs snap closed and he rolls his hips once—only once, that single time is embarrassing enough as it is—to get some amount of friction against himself. “It… depends.”
“And what, pray tell, does it depend upon?”
“The things you say. How I’m feeling. Does it really matter?”
“Of course it matters. I need to know what I’m doing and what you like.”
“It feels like you’re asking for more details than necessary.”
“There’s more to lose from not being thorough enough than there is from being too thorough.” Simeon waves his hand loosely. “Be good and lie back now, Mattias. Head on the pillows. I’ll take very good care of you.”
Mattias scoffs, but does as he’s told regardless. “You make it sound like I’m fragile.”
“Well, it is your first time…”
“Virginity is a meaningless thing.”
“Maybe so.” Simeon climbs onto the bed and settles himself down, clad only in his underwear, on the other’s hips. “But isn’t it fun to pretend otherwise? The first time for any experience is a special thing, if you view it in the proper light. You can only ever have your first time once, no matter what it is. This may be nothing special to you, but if there’s ever a point going forward where you think back on your sexual debut, well… that memory will permanently be tied to me.”
That shouldn’t have Mattias’s biting back a groan, but there’s something about it. He has long since abandoned holiness, long since committed himself to a dark, sinful path leading deeper and deeper into heresy, but the idea that he has some shred of purity and innocence left that he’s about to be stripped of… oh, that feels good.
“I have a feeling I’ll think back fondly on allowing you to be my first,” Mattias says. “And if nothing else, do not show me mercy.”
A shudder wracks Simeon’s frame and his eyes fall shut for a moment with a little gasp. He composes himself a moment later, but the damage to his façade is already done. He reaches into the drawer of the closest nightstand and pulls out a knife, bejeweled and ornate beyond practicality. “Are you certain that’s a request you’d like to commit to?”
“I wouldn’t have made it otherwise. I didn’t think you’d have an issue, but it seems like—”
Mattias is cut off by a sharp, searing pain, starting at a single point in his wrist but quickly spreading like a fire through his hand and his forearm before beginning burn further up into his bicep. He looks down to see the elegant, showy dagger sticking out of his arm.
“Oh,” he wheezes, all of the air stolen from his lungs by just how intensely it hurts.
“Is this what you’d hoped for?” Simeon asks, his voice light and airy as he admires his handiwork. “Is this what you desired?”
Mattias couldn’t respond if he wanted to, sucking in shallow little breaths against the agony. He never thought he’d enjoy anything like this, subject to whatever someone else wanted to do with him. He always imagined that, should the day ever come where he found someone worthy of having sex with, he’d like to be the one in full control of everything. Even when he was a naïvely religious man following the Church obediently and without question, he was still unable to imagine himself in a more submissive role.
But that was all prior to meeting Simeon. Now he is here, with a blade slotted through the narrow space between the bones in his wrist and enjoying every second of it.
He hopes he remembers enough of the light magic he learned during his days of piousness to keep himself from bleeding out too much, and if he doesn’t, he hopes Simeon wasn’t relying on him being able to shore up that knowledge after so long of it going unused.
“You’re gorgeous like this,” Simeon continues. “Gasping in agony with your blood spilling out… It makes me want to shred you to ribbons.” He yanks the dagger out, causing a new surge of pain to erupt from the injury. “Who knew you’d enjoy having your innocence taken so violently?”
The question, though asked without expectation of being answered, doesn’t exactly seem like a rhetorical one. Mattias doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to reflect on how quickly Simeon stirred up previously wholly unknown proclivities within himself.
A honey-sweet warmth pulses through his wrist where the stab wound is as he calls forth a small bit of light magic, only enough to slow—but not stop—the bleeding and to dull the pain just enough to find his words.
“You certainly pull no punches,” Mattias gasps, trying to force his breathing back under control. “Hurts like a son of a bitch.”
“It was upon your request that I hurt you, was it not?”
“I wasn’t complaining.”
“Tell me,” Simeon says as he trails the blade up Mattias’s arm and to his throat, leaving a thin trail of blood behind, “have you always been this inclined toward masochism?”
“…No, I haven’t.”
“Ah!” The pure enthusiasm that crosses Simeon’s face makes him look utterly unhinged, and it’s not helped by the giddy giggle he lets out. The dagger resting lightly against Mattias’s throat presses against the skin a little, though not as a threat and not nearly forceful enough to risk drawing blood. “I hadn’t realized I’d be the one to take so much of the innocence left in you. Learning I’d be the one to deflower you was already such a treat, but to know I’ve awakened such a craving for pain in you as well…” He grinds down a few times, letting out little gasps with each downward motion of his hips, and Mattias comes unfortunately close to making his own small, pleasured noises.
But no, if Simeon wants him to gasp and whimper and moan beneath him, he’s going to have to work for it.
“What do you think about when you touch yourself, Mattias?” The blade eases up only to move down to Mattias’s left clavicle and press against it until it draws forth the warm spill of blood.
He isn’t going to come away from this with his ego unscathed.
“I think about you making me bleed and holding me down hard enough to bruise me. I think about you choking me and fucking me so hard I can’t feel my legs and c-calling me…”
Oh. He hadn’t meant to go that far. What he gets off on being called can remain a secret for the rest of eternity.
But of course it can’t be left at that.
Simeon leans forward, close enough for his breath to be felt against the crook of Mattias’s neck. “You’re going to have to tell me what you want to be called, because I can’t exactly read your mind. I also can’t very well guess, either, because it’s difficult to decide if you’re more the type to like being called a dirty whore or a good boy. Or perhaps you’d like to be referred to as a god?”
“Fuck,” Mattias groans. “I’m not picky.”
“Is that your way of trying to seem impassive while admitting you’d like me to call you a worthless slut? Or is it more humiliating for you to admit you want to be called a good boy?”
There’s a chance, no matter how marginal, that Mattias likes the humiliation of it all. He squirms, trying and failing to swallow back a whine.
“Oh, I see.” Simeon laughs softly against his neck, rolling his hips downward again. “Do you, perchance, want to be my good boy?”
“Shut up.” It’s supposed to be snappy and hostile, but it comes out a breathy gasp instead.
“How delightful. Not only offering up your purity to me, but wanting me to make you mine as well…”
Mattias could have begged to be ruined, to be broken in and made into a trembling, whimpering mess—but his ego won’t allow for it. (Part of him hopes his dedication to protecting his pride shatters, and the sooner it does, the better.)
“You talk a lot about stealing my purity for someone who won’t just do it,” Mattias says.
Another small laugh, then Simeon sits up and pulls the knife away from the other’s skin. He licks the blade with far more showmanship than necessary, leaving bloody trails of spit on both sides of it. “You’re a terribly impatient man, Mattias.”
“I don’t think it’s impatience when all you’ve done is drag this out. I’m so horny it hurts, so either touch me or let me do it myself.”
Simeon’s eyes are alight with amusement as he presses the dagger against Mattias’s throat hard enough to make breathing uncomfortable. “That sounded suspiciously close to begging.”
“…And so what if it was?”
“You’re beautiful when your hauteur begins to crack.” Simeon pushes past the waistband of his underwear to pull his cock out, hard and leaking, and Mattias can’t help but groan as he feels pre drip onto his stomach. “I want to see more of that. I intend to wreck you.”
“Go on, then.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I already am.”
So that’s how it’s going to be. Mattias doesn’t know how much more of this he can take.
The dagger moves so the sharp point of it presses against the hollow of Mattias’s throat, and Simeon looses a heavy breath as he begins to stroke himself. The ex-priest finds himself wondering if his limited control over light magic would be enough to save him if the blade was to slip and puncture too deep in the wrong place. All it’d take is a little more pressure and it could stab through his throat. He could bleed out in a matter of minutes and be helpless to stop it.
“Please,” he breathes, wriggling insistently. He doesn’t even know what he’s asking for, just that he needs something. Anything more than this would be enough by now.
“Needy, needy. Be a good boy and have some restraint.”
Mattias arches up off the bed with a high-pitched whine. It’s truly painful how badly he needs to be touched, so painful in a way he’s so unfamiliar with that he could cry. If this goes on too much longer, he could probably cum without being touched at all.
The dagger slices down his side, over his ribcage down to his hip. He flexes his hands into fists against the suddenness of it, but all that does is cause the stab wound in his wrist to send a fiery hot burst through his entire arm. Something tears open and he can feel more blood oozing out over his wrist.
Another cut is made across his abdomen, right below his navel, and Simeon shudders and groans.
“You look gorgeous like this,” Simeon pants. His hand is moving quicker against himself, and he’s no doubt getting close. “I hadn’t expected you to be this much of a slut for pain. Or is this sort of depravity reserved just for me?”
The implication that Simeon had anticipated some level of masochism…
Mattias doesn’t need to think about that right now.
“Y-you, I suppose,” Mattias gasps, struggling to get any words out between his breaths. It feels as though heat is consuming him from the inside, and he can’t tell the burn of arousal from the burn of the cuts.
Simeon’s control wavers for a moment, causing the blade to press in harder, and then he slices across the other’s chest.
That’s where Mattias’s breaking point is. He flexes his injured hand to worsen the pain as he arches off the mattress with a cry, cumming without needing to be touched—and it hurts. He covers his mouth with his unharmed hand as he sobs, so humiliated by it all that he barely registers when Simeon finishes in sticky white ropes across his stomach.
“So that was enough?” Simeon asks, a little breathless. He smears his cum against the cut on Mattias’s stomach, and fuck, it stings.
Mattias lets out a hiss, trying to compartmentalize his pain response and his lust enough to formulate a coherent sentence. “That hurt, you motherfucker.”
“You requested I not show you mercy. Did it not feel good?”
“I’ve never felt any pain like that before. Fuck.”
“That wasn’t what I asked, was it?”
“It’s the best answer you’re going to get.”
“Did you enjoy it or not?”
“I’ll have to get back to you later on that.”
“Duly noted.”
Mattias wonders if he cares at all. His tone isn’t teasing or condescending, and by all accounts, he seems sincere enough. It doesn’t matter either way, but at present it feels like it does—the spike in hormones is having an interesting effect.
(It means nothing. There isn’t so much as trust between them, so the idea of anything a step further is ludicrous.)
Simeon tucks himself back into his underwear—for what reason, really?—and settles himself down between Mattias’s legs. His free hand leaves a tacky mess of cum and blood on the inside of Mattias’s thigh, and the other is used to press the knife into his other thigh.
A person’s inner thighs are a dangerous place to use a blade around without careful precision. One little mistake could be fatal—but that risk, Mattias thinks, is what makes this fun. It’s the reason his arousal flares up again all at one, white-hot and insistent.
“You are an absolute delight,” Simeon praises. “Do you want my fingers or my mouth, darling?”
“How much of a difference could it make?”
Simeon chuckles quietly. “I truly will be the one to corrupt you, won’t I? Allow me to demonstrate.”
If anyone else tried to say being his first fuck was ‘corrupting’ him, he’d surely knock them back with a kick or a burst of magic, but hearing Simeon say it… Fuck. This man is going to corrupt him, take his purity, and thinking about it like that turns his blood to steam as he moans.
“And to think you were voicing annoyance at that sort of phrasing not so long ago…” Simeon tugs down the other’s underwear, pulling them all the way off and setting them aside with a level of care unfitting of the situation. “I had a feeling you’d come around on it.”
“You are… a unique person, I suppose.”
“That’s an interesting way of telling me I’m special.”
Mattias has something to come back with, but his words fall away into nothing once Simeon’s mouth is on him. He starts slowly and simply, licking a gentle stripe from Mattias’s opening up to his dick and then licking back down again. The ex-priest squirms, his thighs tensing, and he whimpers. Such pathetic sounds he’s making this evening, but the more time passes, the less he cares.
There is a drastic difference between using his own hand and having Simeon’s mouth on him. This is nothing like what he anticipated it to be. It was obviously going to be a new experience—there’d have been no reason for him to have spent the past several nights wishing Simeon would fuck him while he was touching himself—but this… this is all overwhelmingly unexpected.
He certainly didn’t think he’d be reduced to whimpering and whining. On his own, he’s so quiet, panting and occasionally letting out a soft groan, never raising his voice louder than when he sighed Simeon’s name as he came. His thighs tremble and his muscles go weak, but he isn’t vocal. Or at least he didn’t think he was. He never has been, prior to this.
When Simeon pushes his tongue in, Mattias brings one of his hands to his mouth to bite down on his knuckles. The pressure from his jaw is going to leave bruises, but he doesn’t care—anything to keep his voice down a little.
Simeon chuckles and moves to rest his cheek on one of Mattias’s thighs, observing the ex-priest with an expression of equal parts amusement and intrigue. “You’re unfathomably beautiful when you’re coming apart. Desperation is a lovely look on you, darling.”
What gives him the fucking right to be using pet names? It’s standard practice for him, but they always have an edge of condescension or teasing or both to them. Now there’s neither one, and he’s watching Mattias with an expertly performative adoration. Mattias has only seen him wear expressions of fondness while watching well-executed plays, but this one holds a distinctly separate type of interest and care. The ex-priest is using what focus and critical analysis he can manage to search for whatever signs of disingenuity must be there, but he can’t find any of them.
But Simeon is nothing if not a talented actor. Thus far, however, it has never been this frustrating.
It makes something twist low in Mattias’s gut, makes his thighs twitch against the inexplicable jolt of arousal.
“I-I’m close,” he stutters, barely louder than a whisper.
“Again? Already?”
“I wouldn’t… wouldn’t have said it otherwise.”
“And what do good boys say when they want something?”
“Fuck you.”
“No, that’s not quite it.” Simeon presses his dagger harder into the other’s thigh. “You’re so new to this that I need to be completely certain that you know what you want. If you’re hesitant to ask nicely, I just don’t find it that convincing. I’m making you impure, but I would prefer to do so chivalrously.”
What a fucking joke.
But perhaps Mattias isn’t above begging. He wants to tell himself that he is, but…
“Please,” he whines. “Please make me cum. I’ll be good.”
Simeon looses a heavy breath in response, visibly shuddering, and gets back to work. This time he focuses only on Mattias’s dick, sucking a bit too hard. Mattias wails, back arching up, and when Simeon presses his tongue forcefully against the cock in his mouth, Mattias practically screams as he cums.
That’s where it should stop, surely, but it doesn’t.
“Fu-uck!” Mattias gasps, hardly able to breathe at all. “Simeon, S-Sim—eon, fu-fuck, too—too m-much, I, I, I can’t—!”
“Gorgeous,” Simeon breathes, once again laying his cheek against the other’s thigh, and he runs his tongue over his lower lip to lick the cum off. “You are an absolute masterpiece.”
Mattias would have replied with something, but it feels as though his violent shuddering is dislodging every shard of coherence in his mind as soon as he regains it. The sharp edge of the dagger, still pressed in place against him, is a thin line of heat burning into his oversensitive skin. The touch of Simeon lying against him is barely within the realm of tolerability, toeing the border of overwhelming without crossing it, but the blade is about a centimeter over that line and it’s enough to hurt.
“Oh, you’re such a virginal little thing,” Simeon murmurs. “I’ve broken you.”
“You did not,” Mattias tries to snap, but is comes out shaky and weak and entirely unthreatening.
“You certainly could have fooled me. You look so wrecked.” But despite the false pity in his voice, his eyes are alight with enthusiasm. This is all a game to him.
(Not that that’s a problem. Everything is a game to this man. Mattias knew what he was getting himself into, and in a way, they aren’t much different in that particular regard.)
“I didn’t expect it to feel like so much,” Mattias argues.
“Then what were you expecting?”
“Not… not that kind of intensity?” His voice lilts up into a question on the last syllable, and embarrassment prickles under his skin. He has no idea what he was expecting, really.
Simeon laughs. “Oh, you are virginal,” and he says it like it’s a revelation. He sits up, finally, mercifully, moving the dagger to set it down beside him. He looks on the sticky, drying mess of blood and cum smeared across Mattias’s abdomen with far more self-satisfaction and intrigue than the sight deserves. “It always feels better when someone else is touching. You’ve been missing out.”
“I’d agree, if I’d ever met anyone else worthy of lying with.”
“So not only am I your first time, but I am the only one worthy of being your first?”
“Surely I would have already had my cherry popped a long time ago if you weren’t.”
“That’s such an odd phrase.” Simeon pushes two of his fingers into Mattias, eliciting a soft gasp. “There is nothing here to pop. No physical evidence that I touched you like this will be left behind, but I think I like that better.” He hooks his fingers, prodding at something inside, and Mattias squirms against the sensation. “You could lie with anyone at all after this and they’d never know I was your first, would never know you’ve had your first at all unless you tell them… but it will be burned into your memory forever, won’t it?”
Oh, and isn’t that a thought. Mattias won’t give him the satisfaction of an admission, but he’s right. This is an experience far outside the scope of what he’s used to. It’s going to be committed to memory for the rest of his life—and should he ever lie with anyone else, which is doubtful, he’ll probably be silently comparing them to Simeon the whole time whether he intends to or not.
It dawns on him with a vague sense of discomfort that he likes that.
Something about the fingers kneading inside him makes his stomach flutter and his breath catch. He likes it and he doesn’t, because it’s nice but it feels dangerous in a way he doesn’t want to mess with too much.
“You’re hard,” Mattias notes, a pointless observation only to draw the attention of the conversation elsewhere.
“Indeed I am,” Simeon agrees.
“I didn’t… take you for the type t-to hold back.”
“Your body has taken a bit of a beating, especially for this being your first time. I’m not sure you’d like me fucking you properly very much.”
“I can handle it.”
“I’m well aware you can handle it. What I said is that I don’t think you would like it.”
Mattias huffs and forces down his pride. “Simeon. Please. I want—I need you to fucking take me.”
The fingers inside him push upward a little too hard as Simeon’s composure wavers for a brief second. For a moment it seems his restraint is going to fall away, but it doesn’t.
“Mattias, darling,” and it doesn’t sound patronizing the way it should, “I’m not sure you know what you’re asking for.”
“Then I’ll tell you to stop if I don’t like it.” With some effort, Mattias props himself up on one elbow, and pain shoots through his arm as he reaches out with his other hand to run his fingers over the obvious bulge in Simeon’s underwear. “Please.”
“That looks like it hurts,” Simeon says, taking Mattias’s wrist and pulling and gods does it hurt. “You used magic on it, but there’s still a hole all the way through. It’ll rip open again, if I’m not careful. You are such a masochistic whore.”
“I am,” Mattias agrees breathlessly, a last-ditch effort to convince Simeon to just fuck him already. “So please just— I want you inside me, Simeon, please.”
“So desperate, and just for me…” Simeon lets Mattias’s wrist go and pulls his fingers out of him to slide his own underwear off. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He pushes Mattias back down and grips his hips, one hand on each side, and lifts him up that way. The hand that stays in place trembles a little under the strain as he uses the other to help push into Mattias, but the fact he’s strong enough to keep the other’s hips up regardless is impressive. The ex-priest knows he’s a little too thin, but he isn’t that light—Simeon is far stronger than expected.
Simeon is careful with easing himself in, unnecessarily gentle with it, but Mattias doesn’t complain. It inexplicably brings back the fluttery feeling from earlier.
“How does this feel?” Simeon asks as he reaches for the dagger once again. His voice is still mostly even, but it’s starting to fray at the edges.
“Fuck me,” Mattias rasps, because it’s the only thing he can think of.
“Surprisingly virginal and a shameless slut…” He chuckles breathlessly. “Good boy.”
He draws back only to slam back in, and it hurts, but not in a bad way. More than the ache already setting into Mattias’s hips, more than the bruising force Simeon drives into him with, his stomach stings. The position he’s been pushed into, causing his abdominal muscles contract, makes the cuts on his torso burn, and the slowly increasing speed at which Simeon is thrusting into him is certainly doing nothing to help.
“H-harder,” Mattias whines. “M-more, more, f-fuck—!”
Simeon is all too happy to comply, repositioning the hand on the other’s hip somewhat and fucking into him more roughly. He presses the dagger against Mattias’s shoulder, and there’s a moment of wondering if he’s going to do anything before he slices it down across the ex-priest’s chest. The bite of the blade digs in between two of his ribs, at first not hard enough to break the skin, but then there’s the thick spill of blood down his side onto the sheets below him.
And all the while, Simeon is looking down at him with such unadulterated adoration—not only at the blood welling up from his cuts, not only at the mess he’s become, but him. It makes him feel vulnerable, but he can’t figure out if that’s such a bad thing. It’s a vulnerability that also makes him ache with need, makes him want to be touched so badly he could cry.
“I hadn’t expected you to be so desperate to be my cum dumpster,” Simeon comments, words strained but still clear.
“Fuck,” Mattias hisses. “N-need to touch—”
“You’re welcome to… on the condition you use your—your injured hand.”
Mattias whines as he complies with said condition, another white-hot sting running through up to his shoulder as he moves his hand to rub at his dick. Everything is slick with his cum, with the proof that Simeon has already finished him twice already, and it sends a shudder through his whole body.
“Pretty little fuck doll,” Simeon grits out, dragging the blade up to rest just below the other’s sternum. “Such a whorish wreck. You feel—perfect around me… like this is what you’re… meant to do.”
“More, fuck, please—” He doesn’t even know what he’s begging for but he’s so desperate, so wound up. His fingers are pressing against himself so hard that his own touch has become painful.
“G-going to finish inside you.” But it doesn’t sound like Simeon is issuing a warning, instead requesting either a protest or an acknowledgement that it’s okay for him to.
An insistent heat lances through Mattias and a moan rips from his throat. He’s close again, tightening around Simeon’s cock. “Please, oh, gods, please—”
“Oh, oh, Mattias,” Simeon groans, and that’s about all he can manage before he cums—and, oh, fuck, Mattias can feel it inside him—as he presses his knife’s edge in harder and harshly gasps out a litany of Mattias’s name.
And once he’s done filling the ex-priest up, he leans forward to murmur in his ear, “Lucky me, having a fuck doll who may as well be a fourteenth god himself.”
That’s what does it, pulling a high-pitched, desperate whine from Mattias as he finishes a third time, trembling beneath Simeon the entire time.
Instead of letting Mattias fall back to the mattress when he pulls out, Simeon instead lowers him back down with slightly unsteady hands. He’s comparatively in far better condition, most of his weakness impossible to perceive and his posture airily condescending as always.
“I’ll return shortly,” he says as he gets up, swaying a little as he regains his bearings.
Mattias doesn’t have the energy to protest as he watches the other pull a robe around himself and head out of the bedroom.
It’s a quiet space without company. Of course it’s quiet. Why wouldn’t it be?
But the issue is that it’s too quiet, deafeningly so. Trying to settle into the abrupt deprivation of sensation, only keeping the ache between his legs and the soreness in his back and the stinging of the cuts, is more stress on Mattias’s mind and body than anything Simeon had done to him. He wants to at least sit up, see the damage done to the blankets, inspect where he’s still bleeding, do something, but the room is spinning even as he’s lying down so he’d rather not.
He is far too prideful a man to take a chance on sitting up when he knows for a fact he won’t be able to manage it, so he keeps still and stares blankly up at the ceiling as he tries to conjure up enough light magic to dull the pain of the injuries marking his torso. Everything hurts and the room is too quiet. It’s Simeon’s own bedroom so he’s obviously going to be coming back—how stupid it would be to leave a mess of blood and cum and sweat on one’s own bed for fun—but the silence, for a time, makes it difficult to believe he actually will.
Except then the door opens, finally—mercifully, truly, but Mattias will never say that out loud, will never admit he’d gotten lonely during the short span of time he’s been left by himself—and Simeon steps back into the room with an assortment of items.
He sets everything carefully on the nightstand and settles back onto the mattress. He reaches for the bowl he brought and takes out a rag, and when he wrings it out, Mattias realizes that the dish is full of water.
“This is going to hurt,” Simeon warns, drawing attention to the obvious right before he starts gently dabbing at the cut just below Mattias’s navel. Mattias hisses when he feels the sting of it, but doesn’t complain. This is a necessary step in the process unless he wants an infection.
It feels off, though. To be taken care of by someone so concerned with maintaining a grandiose appearance, someone who only cares about his own entertainment even (especially, rather) at the expense of others, someone uninterested in offering charity to others unless it’s to maintain a façade… There is something endlessly strange and somewhat uncomfortable about it.
Mattias silently suffers the cleaning of his wounds, gritting his teeth against the pain. He continues staring at the ceiling until the constant tilting and spinning of the world around him starts making him feel the slightest bit nauseated, at which point he closes his eyes instead.
It should feel like a suicide attempt, closing his eyes while entrusting his physical care to someone else. There’s a dagger on the bed that could be forced into his heart or be used to slit his throat, and he’d never see it coming.
But that isn’t going to happen. There’s no reason not to expect it—anywhere belonging to someone else should be regarded as enemy territory for safety reasons—but he knows there is nothing to worry about. There’s no way to know it won’t, but he does. In all his years piously following the rules and the words and the doctrines of the Church, he’s never this close to miraculously having some sort of knowledge he has no reason and no way of having.
Does he trust Simeon? He can’t help but wonder about that. He doesn’t think so, but he knows he can trust Simeon not to kill him—not here, not like this, at least.
“Something is weighing on your mind,” Simeon says.
“What’s the point of this?”
“I’m not sure I understand the question.”
“Taking care of me like this. Cleaning up my injuries.”
“Is it not my responsibility to clean up the messes I create?”
“If you gave me a little more time, I could have taken care of this myself.”
“I initiated everything with the expectation that I would be, in some way or another, looking after you in the aftermath. The option of giving you a rocky introduction to sex wasn’t exactly to my taste. Virginity may not exist, but first impressions certainly do. And skipping this part after something so intense can damage people.”
There are… several implications, none of which Mattias is particularly interested in unpacking.
Skipping this part after something so intense can damage people. As though that isn’t what Simeon enjoys doing to others. As though he wouldn’t tear Mattias apart, helplessly and tragically, if he had the option to do so without inconveniencing himself. People are not people to him, and there’s the chance Mattias has been elevated to personhood in his mind, but that doesn’t guarantee much.
“My intention here was not to damage you,” Simeon clarifies. “My intention wasn’t strictly to get off, either. I can’t complain about that part, but watching you fall to pieces under me so completely, every bit of your pleasure so unquestionably clear…” He breathes a sigh, as if the mere mention of it all is making his blood run too hot again. “That is what I was aiming for. I would have been gentle, if that’s what you wanted. It would have been just as enjoyable that way.”
Bullshit. Mattias has never heard anything so dishonest in his life. Luck had it that he wanted rough, merciless, because that’s the only was he would have gotten it.
He blinks his eyes open again to get an idea of how much Simeon has gotten done. The cloth, before a pristine white, is soaked with red and most the blood that had spilled across his body is gone now. There’s still a vague sticky feeling to his skin, but he predicts it’ll be gone by the time Simeone’s work here is finished.
(Part of him doesn’t want Simeon to finish cleaning him up. He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t know how he’ll be getting anywhere without help and asking for a steady shoulder to lean on for any amount of time would be humiliating. That isn’t the reason, but if he tells himself it is enough times, he might be able to trick himself into believing it.)
“I’d offer a bath, but you look exhausted,” Simeon continues. “When I’m finished here, have a snack and some water, and then I’m sending you to bed.”
“You’re sending me to bed,” Mattias repeats flatly.
“That is the responsible thing for me to do, is it not?”
“I’m not a child.”
“No, of course not.” After the next dip of the cloth in the bowl of water, Simeon moves onto the other’s arm. “But you are injured and weak, and rest is the best way to help with that.”
Mattias says nothing, opting to hold his tongue as his arm is cleaned. He gasps when Simeon starts cleaning his thighs, but makes no other sound. It’s baffling to a nearly overwhelming degree.
Finally, after what seems like forever, Simeon sets the cloth aside for good. “All right, this next part requires you to sit up. Do you need help?”
As though it’s an act of defiance—it isn’t, he knows it isn’t, but he tells himself it is—Mattias pushes himself up onto his elbows. His arms feel about as reliable for support as jelly would be, but he clenches his jaw and repeats like a mantra that a little more effort will make this worth it. It would have been so simple to say yes, he needs a little help, but he is nothing if not fiercely, egotistically independent, so he pushes himself to keep going until he’s sitting up properly. He has to slump forward to keep from falling backward, but this is good enough.
“That fastidious self-reliance is one of the many things that draws me to you,” Simeon murmurs as he reaches for something on the nightstand. It nothing more than a large fudge cube, too rich to be stomached all in the same sitting. “Have this. It’ll make you feel better.”
Mattias takes the fudge with shaky hands and hesitantly takes a small bite. This could be laced with poison, but it isn’t. There’s no reason to believe it’s not, but it’s not.
It also isn’t plain fudge. Inside is a mix of different things. Mattias can identify peanut butter and oats and some type of flower, but it’s too strange flavor—or mix of flavors, rather—to tell for sure if there’s anything more.
“Bougie,” Mattias says before taking another bite.
Simeon laughs. “I have particular tastes. Well enough to your liking, I’d hope?”
“It’s not bad.”
Simeon takes the glass of water on the nightstand, holding it near the base as he watches Mattias intently, making no attempt to hide the way he’s studying the other. Mattias hopes his face isn’t burning enough under the unabashed scrutiny to show as he makes his way through his snack.
When he’s finished, Simeon holds out the glass of water. “You’ll need this, too. Slowly, or you’ll make yourself ill.”
Mattias wants to argue that he’s tired, he wants to sleep, he doesn’t want to be tended to like this anymore. But he wordlessly reaches out for the water and takes a small sip. It tastes faintly of rose. Simeon continues watching him carefully as he gradually drains the glass.
“I want to sleep,” is how Mattias breaks the silence as he hands the glass back to Simeon.
“Be a doll and stand up so can make the bed.”
Does Simeon expect him to sleep here? He doesn’t ask as he carefully gets to his feet. His knees feel ready to give out at any moment, but he keeps himself upright. He just needs to endure a little longer.
Simeon sets his showy dagger on his nightstand before gathering up all of their clothing in one arm and stripping the top blanket from his bed with the other—everything below it appears untouched, somehow—and takes all of it to a hamper neatly placed in the corner of the room. He takes another blanket from his closet and comes back over to remake the bed, then makes a uselessly dramatic motion as if showing off his handiwork.
“And there we go!” he announces, and drops himself down onto the mattress. “Come, now, darling. Join me.”
“Don’t call me that,” Mattias mutters, but he clambers onto the bed regardless.
“You had no complaints earlier…”
“Earlier was, on all accounts, an unusual situation.”
“Indeed it was.” Simeon sits up, eyeing the marks scattered across Mattias’s bare body. “Do you plan on doing anything about those?”
Mattias frowns. He hadn’t seen any reason to. He gingerly takes his injured wrist in his opposite hand and inspects it. It’s already scabbed over thanks to his own magical intervention, but the stab wound still clearly goes all the way through and any movement of his fingers comes with anything from a dull ache to a fiery sting. “This one, maybe, but I haven’t decided. Everything will heal on its own in due time without scarring, so I see no need.”
“You look absolutely immaculate covered in your own blood.”
“I would hope so, all things considered.”
“Would you like to rest now? You look exhausted.”
“That’s because I am.”
“Then sleep here with me tonight. That is the very least I could offer you.”
Mattias doesn’t understand why the offer is so appealing, but he also doesn’t want to think on it enough to sort that out. The events of tonight will not go forgotten and he certainly wouldn’t want them to be, but the odd emotions cropping up here and there… those can be buried and abandoned forever—and the sooner they are, the better.