Chapter Text
Simon would have skipped his father’s funeral if it would not have raised eyebrows. Now he wished he could have done that instead, as this service had to be his own personal hell. At least one of the circles of it. It would have been worse if he had had to give some eulogy to the old bastard. Instead, he played too grief-stricken to do so, and let some old business partners of his father do that instead. It was remarkable how many of them hadn’t spoken to his father in years, or had cut ties with him for one reason or another. Fuck all of this. No one loved the sick bastard, and they were all waiting for refreshments at the end. If it had been up to Simon he would not have held a funeral. But for appearances' sake, he was here to keep up some reputation for people he didn't like dealing with in the first place. When the speaker spoke of his mother receiving a miracle–his birth–Simon walked out. A miracle would not have involved a dead mother as far as he was concerned. Simon made his way outside to breathe or smell flowers, whatever people did when they pretended to be fine. He started to mentally count flowers. As a boy, Mrs. Danbury taught him to count things when things were overwhelming. He got to 27, and was starting to breathe better, when someone opened the door and slammed into him.
“I’m my goodness! I’m so sorry.” It was an attractive woman, with strawberry blonde hair. Well this was certainly a distraction.
“Oww. Did you hate the eulogy so much you had to ram out of the doors?”
“My apologies, I simply was-”
“Bored to tears? I assure you the Deceased deserves none of your condolences.”
She laughed. “I see you and Mrs. Danbury share the same opinion. You’d think she’d wanted to incite a mob with the things she was whispering about him.”
“I assure you he’d deserve it.”
“So are the rumors about the late Mr. Hastings true?” she looked at him quizzically. “That he wanted an heir above all else?”
“You still haven’t said why you’re out here,” said Simon, dodging the question. He wanted to simultaneously denounce his father from the rooftops, yet never talk about him again.
“I wanted some air.”
“There’s air in the building.” Okay, so he might have been being unfair now, questioning the girl instead of talking about him. But he’d been dealing with condolences all day, and she was pretty. Much better to talk about her.
“I didn’t like the subject matter…I mean, not that anyone goes to funerals to hear riveting stories or amazing oratory skills. I just didn’t like hearing about Henry’s wife. Which I know is silly, she existed after all. So the least I can do is hear her story. But it's just tragic, isn’t it? After all those losses, she didn’t get to meet her baby. And just to end in yet more bleeding..” She shuddered.
Simon stared at her, into those gloriously blue eyes. “And the Deceased?”
“Well, I am pathetic, and I walked out before I got to hear much of his life with his son. All those losses,” She said softly, “Though I probably should go back, so Mrs Danbury has someone to talk with.”
“Let her ruminate. She’s strong.” Simon sank down next to the wall, gesturing for the girl to sit beside him.
“If you say so.” She sank beside him. “I’m Daphne, Daphne Bridgerton. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Bridgerton? Is Anthony here?”
“He’s taking Franchesca to tour colleges at the moment. And you are?” Her eyes gazed into his. God, he wanted to kiss her. He could forget he was at his father’s funeral, if he just could kiss her..
“Simon Basset.”
“Oh goodness, you’re the son. And here I was talking about your Mother.”
“Don’t sweat it. And don’t tell me you’re sorry for me either, I’ve had enough of that.”
“What would you like me to do?” She met his gaze. ”You clearly don’t want to be here, which is understandable-”
“Why are you here? You’re no relation, and you care about people, which is antithetical to everything Henry Hastings stood for.”
“No need to sound like that. I have no stakes in this. I came to offer moral support to Mrs. Danbury, as my Mother had a migraine.”
“Moral support?”
“A task which I am failing at, considering as I’m out here, and Mrs. Danbury is inside.”
“On the contrary, you’re doing a marvelous job. I relish your moral support.” He leaned, whispering in her ear. “I would like more of it.”
“And how would I do that?” breathed Daphne.
“Run away with me.”
“What?’ He laughed at the expression on her face.
“I don’t want to be here, and you don’t want to be here. Come,” He said standing up, offering her his hand. “My friend owns a place not far from here.’ She kept looking at him quizzically.
“This is mad,” she said.
“All the best decisions are,” he replied. “Let’s get the hell out of here. I can’t take one more person pretending they cared.”
She blinked, caught off guard.
“That’s your pitch?”
“I didn’t say it was a good one.”
“Alright. Show me how to mourn your father with the respect he deserves,” She took his hand.
Apparently, the respect the deceased deserved was abandoning the funeral and going to bingo at a local pub. Simon had brought Daphne to The Pirate’s Scabb , a place with sticky tables and battered charm. Will Mondrich, the owner and old friend, had waved them in with a grin.
Admittedly, it was nicer than the funeral, though Simon acknowledged that was an unfair comparison. Simon kept them in round after round of bingo, partly because Daphne was oddly competitive, but mostly because it meant he didn’t have to think too hard. About the coffin. Or the eulogy he didn’t give. Or the man he didn’t mourn.
“I can’t imagine what Mrs. Danbury thinks of me now,” Daphne said beside him, voice low.
“Shh,” Simon whispered, kissing her ear, his arm around her shoulder. “You’re comforting the last living descendant. A noble cause.”
Before she could respond, a clatter interrupted them. Alice Mondrich, baby balanced on one hip and judgement in her eyes, slid a chipped plate of fries across the table.
“Let the girl eat,” she said dryly. “None of that around here. He gets handsy, you shove him.”
Simon sighed dramatically, stealing a fry.
“N 24!” boomed Will from across the room, microphone in hand.
Daphne squealed. “One more to go!”
She didn’t win that round. Or the next. Simon, by his third pint and halfway through Daphne’s fries, started to appear relaxed. His shoulders loosened, his jokes flowed easily, and he threw out bingo guesses with the confidence of a man who had never studied probability.
“G 52,” Will called.
“Knew it,” Simon muttered, even as he confidently circled B 11.
Daphne elbowed him. “You’re terrible at this.”
“I’m tipsy,” he corrected, leaning toward her until his lips skimmed her hair again. “There’s a difference.”
“You’re halfway to disorderly,” she said, eyeing his empty glass.
“And entirely charming.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Yet she still kissed him.
“This calls for a celebration!” he announced. “Alice? Another round for the lady!”
“She kissed your mouth, not your soul,” Alice muttered, but she poured them another round, a hard cider for Daphne, something unnecessarily fruity for Simon. After a moment where they both sipped their drinks-though Simon spilled some on his shirt–admittedly he was looking sloppy. He had lost his tie god knows where, and his Jacket which Daphne was now wearing. Daphne was looking at him, as if she understood how he felt just by how he looked. Simon wasn’t sure if he liked her trying to do that.
“You really hated it, didn’t you?” she asked.
Simon didn’t answer right away. He drummed his fingers on the table, staring at the faint ring his glass had left on the wood.
“I hated pretending,” he said finally. “That the man in the box and I had anything left to say to each other. That I owed him anything.”
“You didn’t,” Daphne said softly.
He looked up, eyes bloodshot but focused. “Then why does it feel like I left something unfinished?”
“Because you’re not heartless, Simon. You just…” she paused, “needed to stop bleeding for someone who never bothered to see you.”
He took a long drink, the words landing too close to the home. She was on to him, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
“And what about you, Miss Bridgerton?” he said, a little too loudly. “Let’s not forget you also walked out.”
Daphne’s hand tightened around her glass. She looked toward the bar, where Alice rocked her son absently while wiping down the counter. Come to think of it, Daphne had been watching that baby all evening.
“I miscarried two months ago,” she said at last. “All the talk about your mother... how she suffered and waited for years, only to die with yet more bleeding..I just couldn’t.”
Simon squinted at her, the pub slightly tilting. This wasn’t the right time for this conversation. Which was, perhaps, why it was happening at all.
“You’ll get your chance,” he said thickly, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. Then, he called out, “Another drink?”
“Another?" Daphne said, rolling her eyes.
Simon passed her the cocktail anyway, a too-strong drink in a glass with a sad umbrella. “You’ll be a wonderful mother,” he said.
“You’re just saying that.” She looked down at the drink, then back at him. “At any rate, I’m not setting a great example of someone to look up to. Playing hooky from the funeral to hook up with you.”
Simon raised a brow. “You’re hooking up with me?”
She blinked, realized her slip, and laughed. “Not that I meant to, or need to—”
“--Shh,” he said. “No, it was a brilliant idea. Besides, I’ve been seducing you all evening.”
“You have?” She said, sipping the drink.
“Damn it, I didn’t realize I was doing that badly.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her neck this time.
Daphne stiffened, then laughed again. “I think we better go.”
“Agreed,” Simon murmured, one hand sliding along her thigh.
“Not for that, you dolt. Before we’re kicked out.”
He followed her gaze. Alice was approaching with a baby on one hip and a look that meant business.
Simon straightened hastily, pulling away from Daphne and reaching for his wallet. He paid the bill, dropped an apologetic wink at Alice, and turned to Daphne.
“Come.”
“Can you even walk?” she hiccupped, letting him pull her up.
“Lyft… exists,” he replied, leading her toward the door.
Somehow, they made it into the right car. And then, into his place.
Daphne wasn’t one to do things like this. She was typically very serious about her sexual health, and who she trusted her body to. Yet when Simon looked at her like that it was hard to resist. Just for a night she could step into a sort of fairytale which was strangely industrial. The exposed brick walls gave the flat a rough sort of charm, tempered by sleek black metal fixtures and muted green accents. Overhead, iron pendant lights cast a dim glow across wood floors. The furniture was comfortable, a low leather couch, heavy coffee table, no softness left uncalculated. The focal point was one painting of an old barn with a tree by a lake. Simon however, was not interested in his interior decorating.
“I should have kept the lights off, my house is too distracting for you.” grumbled Simon, who was taking her jacket, feeling more of her shoulders than had to be necessary.
“I like it,” said Daphne, unzipping her boots. Simon crouched beside her, a little too eager to help, fingers grazing her calves as he eased the boots off one by one.. “It’s so different from my brother’s spaces. Colin has an impressive amount of Comics posters, and Benedict’s house is weirdly unsettling ever since he got into avant garde art. Anthony’s..well he’s so Anthony and his space reflects that. Sorry, I’m talking too much aren’t I? I’m not good at this sort of thing, I don’t really go to guys' places, so I’m–”
Simon cut her off with a kiss.
“Shh, you’re fine Darling. I’m vain enough to like compliments on my house. Though admittedly I'm far more interested in other subjects at the moment." He breathed, kissing under her ear.
Daphne swallowed, her pulse racing. “W-What other subjects?”
“You, of course. You’re the second best thing about my Father’s death.” Said Simon, lifting Daphne up on his counter. She wrapped her legs around him, which made him growl in excitement, as she kissed his face.
“Do tell, what’s the best thing?”
“The old man being dead of course” He let his fingers go to her neck, and his other hand clasped her back.
While Daphne wasn’t so entitled to think that her presence overshadowed the significance of his father’s funeral, she was disappointed that his father came up again, casting a shadow over the events. Still, the way he said it with dark amusement and something broken underneath endured him even more to her.
“God Daphne, you’re so pretty ... .so…..so…pretty.” He did not need to say that as Daphne could feel through his pants what he thought about her looks. He kissed down her throat, like trying to feel as much of her as possible, strangely desperate in a way Daphne didn't know existed before now. The moment was perfect, except Daphne needed to ruin it. He had to know, and it would wreck everything.
“Simon, Stop” he froze, his breath ragged. “I’m not on birth control. You should know that, even if–” Simon kissed her again. Goodness, why did he have to look at her like that?
‘’I had a vasectomy. I’m in the clear. And I have condoms.” Simon scooped her up in his arms, and started walking to his bedroom presumably. “And I passed a STD panel last week. I’m an only child, and my parents are dead. Is there anything else you need to know?”
Daphne blinked, half-laughing, half-stunned. “That escalated quickly.”
“You stopped me. I panicked.”
“Clearly." Her arms curled around his neck, and her head fell to his shoulder. “Your apartment is freezing, by the way.”
He laughed, “I have my reasons.” he said, opening his bedroom door.
“Which are?”
“All the better to drag you into bed, my Dear.” He opened the door and walked into the room. Without warning he tossed her on the bed. At her squeal, he laughed, a deep low barking laugh.
“That was mean,” said Daphne sitting up.
“Guilty as charged.”
She took his arm and tugged him on top of her. She undid the buttons on his shirt in order to inhale how he smelled, like cologne and beer. He responded with gusto, kissing her clavicle, and lower. Truth be told, he was starting to scare her. Not that she was in any danger, but his need for her was startlingly intense. He looked at her like he was starving, and he couldn't get enough of her. She’d never had a man be like this before. Still, he was delightful to toy with. Daphne took off his shirt, straddling his lap. Between kisses she put on his shirt over her dress. “How do I look?”
“Terrible, absolutely awful.” Simon sighed melodramatically, laying back. “It's like a soiled dishrag...needs to be off. He tugged at the sleeve.
“I didn’t realize you had such bad taste in clothes, it’s your shirt after all.”
“Never trust my judgement, it's a decent guideline for life.” He took the shirt off her amid her giggles, and rolled on top of her.
“So I take it, I shouldn’t be taking things off then?”
Simon groaned. “You entrap me, woman. Should have known better than to take you home after you lost bingo. It was a sign.” Daphne shifted awkwardly trying to unzip her dress while under him; which was harder than it should have been. Trying to hide her frustration at the dress she wrapped a leg around him, savoring the warmth of his back on her calf.
“So now that you’ve realized your mistake are you going to change your mind? Risk sleeping with a bingo loser?” Why was her dress so tricky? Now her hair was trapped in the zipper, which killed any fun she was about to have.
“Hmm, I don’t know..need some time to think, Oh, let me help you with that.” He rolled off her, and began untangling her hair from her zipper, “Alright, you're the one with bad taste in clothes, this zipper is vile.” Finally after getting the last few hairs out, he unzipped her dress and she climbed out of it. He traced her spine, faking his time to feel each bump. For all his teasing, there was something almost desperate in the way he touched her — like this was the only thing holding the dark at bay. “There we go. Anything you need, just say it, alright?”
“Umm, I’m really sorry to ask, but can I have a tylenol? It’s just sex can often hurt and-” He kissed her forehead and left the room. A moment later he came back with two pills and a glass of water.
“We don’t have to do this, if you don’t want-”
“No!” said Daphne, swallowing the pills. ”I want to! Okay, that sounds bad, and you must think me stupid and frigid-”
“Frigid is a fucked up word. Sex is hard enough without character judgments. Don’t say it again. The whole premise behind it is insulting. No one is entitled to perfection. If she’s hurting then the problem isn’t your sorry entitlement to a fantasy.”
Simon was proving himself to be surprisingly angry in his rant. He meant what he said, and had a lot to say on this subject. Something in her softened, like rope gone slack. Daphne climbed onto his lap. “I knew I liked you.”
“So you admit it then?”
Daphne worked on his belt buckle trying to undo his pants. She kissed his face, "Just maybe.”
“You’re never going to be able to get these pants off if you’re on top of me.”
“I’m determined.” She worked slowly, teasing him, straddling him.
“Your determination is going to be the death of me.”
“Oh ye of little faith..” She undid the buckle, which was cool against her fingers. She tugged on his pants, unwilling to admit defeat.
“That’s not going to work.” He pushed her off, and stood up, stepping out of his pants.
“But now you’re so far away, so clearly my plan was superior,”
“You have a point there.” He climbed back beside her, “Now where were we?”
“You were doing jumping jacks.” Daphne said, placing her hands on his chest. Tracing each muscle, feeling his pulse under her fingers. “ And I was…” Simon pulled her to him,
“You were losing at bingo?” He ran his hands down her back, kissing her neck, He was good at this, too good. He studied her intently, finding the places that made her gasp. He was more patient than other partners she had, and Daphne was surprised at how much she was enjoying herself.
“No!.. well maybe. But you also lost at–”
“Nothing important. You’re here, so everything before this has to be a win.” He knew what he was doing. How to caress her, how to kiss her…She couldn’t help herself, shamelessly trying to get more. He responded with a fervor that startled her. His mouth bit her collarbone, then lower, hungry and relentless. He seemed almost feral. Like someone who had run out of ways to be angry and had put all of his energy onto her instead, like she was a liferaft in a storm. She was too wrecked to think, too drunk to slow it down, too lonely to pull away. Every kiss, every caress, every brush of his thumb across her skin felt deliberate. He looked at her like he was drowning. Like she was air. After she was able to get her head out of the heaven he had put her in, she felt him trembling. His breath stuttered, rough and uneven. When she brushed her lips along his cheek, she tasted salt. It wasn’t regret, just something raw, breaking loose inside him. She didn’t comment, just kissed each tear, determined to make him forget everything. He soon was at her mercy, gasping her name. Afterwards, they held each other, exchanging drunken kisses. Somehow they fell asleep, Simon pulling a blanket over her, muttering something about the cold, and the rain outside. “All the better to keep you close,” As always, he was attentive to her.
Daphne’s head hurt. And it didn’t help that the phone was ringing. But aside from that, she was comfortable–Warm bed, the scent of him lingering in the sheets, rain tapping softly against the window. The only problem was that he was nowhere to be found, and the phone kept ringing. The realizations dawned on her. She had left the funeral to play bingo and get drunk. A most dignified thing to do. But she had spent a breathless night which she couldn’t regret. Not when she remembered the way he had held her. The way he clung to her. She rolled over, indulging sleepy recollections… Why did her phone have to keep up its persistent ringing? Simon appeared in the doorway with two glasses of water. He was shirtless which he had to know made him look all the more handsome. “Are you going to answer that?” he asked, handing her the water. Daphne groaned and picked up the phone.
“Hello?” she said in a small voice.
“I don’t know what you were thinking but that was quite rude to irish-goodbye me at the funeral.” said Mrs. Danbury. “Yes, I got that text message, but you never came back young lady. I know you didn’t know the deceased, but that hardly excuses-”
“In all fairness she was offering the so called Dearly-Departed's loved one much needed comfort.” said Simon, grabbing the phone. Daphne giggled in horror.
“Ahh, is that you Simon?” said Mrs. Danbury “Well that solves the mystery of where she was…. or currently is. Tell me you had the decency to use a-”
“Yes” groaned Simon which made Daphne laugh harder. She grabbed the phone.
“It was innocent! He invited me to play bingo at a pub and he looked just so sad and-”
“-I am all too aware of Mr. Basset’s persuasiveness.” interrupted Mrs. Danbury. “Well as long as you are safe and cared for I’ll leave you be.” said Mrs. Danbury, hanging up.
Daphne signed lying back. “I’ll never live down the shame you know.” Simon started kissing up her arm.
“Nahh, she’ll get over it. Truth be told, she’s happy for me. She expected far worse antics at the funeral. You kept me from making a scene.” He climbed on top of her, his elbows on each side of her head. “I should thank you for that,” he said in a heady voice.
“Glad to be of service…ugh I should go..” Simon seemed to object, and began to feel up her legs with one hand, reaching her core.
“You sure about that?”
“No,” breathed Daphne,”Wait,... yes..I should..you are such a cheat.” Daphne wiggled out of the position he had her in. Simon sighed, admitting defeat. Daphne stood, letting the sheet fall, and Simon groaned.
“Come back. Five more minutes.”
“You’re going to make me late,” she said, starting to gather up her clothes–how did her bra end up on the other side of the room anyway?--”I’ve got to pick up Colin from the airport. He’s coming back from Cambodia today. Simon grunted and started to dress.
“Damn you woman, you’re going to be the death of me.” All dressed now, Daphne climbed on his lap, and kissed him again.
“And your complaint is..?”
“Nothing” he breathed, his hands on her thighs. Both of them seemed to realize then that one night wasn’t going to be enough.
Daphne, eventually after many interruptions left. They had exchanged phone numbers, and as Daphne sat in the terminal, trying to see Colin, she couldn’t help but smile at the thought of the future.