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Wille is minding his own business on a park bench, engrossed in a book and oblivious to the world, when out of nowhere he is ATTACKED.
And by attacked, he means hit in the head with a frisbee violently.
And by violently, he means the plastic toy bounces off his face about as violently as when a tiny kitten smacks you with their paw. There’s no real impact and it wouldn’t hurt a fly.
Nevertheless, he clutches his forehead like he’s been shot.
His head snaps up in outrage to find the perpetrator and give them a piece of his mind.
And by a piece of his mind, he means subtly glare in their direction and hope they don’t notice, because he can’t handle any sort of real conflict.
Instead of some asshole teenager like he was expecting, the frisbee assailant is a full grown man, who is jogging over to him.
And holy fucking hell does he look like something straight out of a dream.
A wet dream.
Wille’s entire world is suddenly in slow motion, like one of those sexy beach scenes from Baywatch, as the shirtless attacker runs over to him with glistening arm muscles and rippling abs and a sweaty mop of curls clinging to his forehead and the most deadly face card Wille has ever seen.
What the actual fuck. No one has the right to make physical activity look this sexy.
Wille sits in a trance as he greedily rakes his eyes over every sweaty inch of flesh as the alleged frisbee thrower approaches. By the time he reaches him, it feels like a month has passed.
The man kneels at Wille’s feet to pick up the dangerous weapon and then he turns his attention to him. Fuck, he looks even better up close. A sparkling sunbeam shines down on him like a spotlight, exquisitely highlighting flushed cheeks, glowing tan skin, and oh so tempting shiny pink lips.
Sweet jesus.
This guy can hit Wille with a frisbee whenever he wants. Wherever he wants. As many times as he wants. As hard as he wants. Just so long as Wille can keep staring at him. Forever, preferably.
His fingers ache to trail a (lucky) drip of sweat down the man’s firm chest and stomach as it disappears into the waistband of his black gym shorts. Actually, screw his fingers. His tongue would do a much more thorough job.
That frisbee must have knocked a screw loose, because he is staring at the man’s chest like a crazy person and panting like a dog in heat. And he sincerely doubts that he is being subtle about it.
“Are you okay?”
That would be a big fat no, dawg.
Because in the span of about thirty seconds, Wille’s brain has regressed to that of a thirteen year old who just hit puberty, rather than a twenty-five year old who has, in fact, seen a man before. You’d think this is the first time based on the eyes popping out of his head, and his jaw hitting the ground, and the sudden urge to shout AWOOGA, and the way he has turned into the literal human embodiment of this emoji: 🥵
By the way, Wille totally glossed over the fact that this guy is now kneeling in front of him. A move that is too damn sexy for broad daylight, in the middle of a park full of innocent eyes.
Someone this hot should definitely think twice before casually kneeling in front of anyone with a pulse. It’s just plain disrespectful to not think of the potential boners you might be inflicting on any poor souls who actually have things to do and places to be today.
“—you okay?”
Is this the second time he’s asked or the thirty-second? Hell if Wille knows. He’s still trapped and trying to claw his way out from under the avalanche of filthy thoughts and naughty mental images and all-consuming horniness.
“I’m fine.”
Nailed it.
And by nailed it, he means that he just uttered the two breathiest, hoarsest, most incoherent words to ever be uttered. A person coming out of a full coma would’ve been more articulate than that. He’s heard babies say their first words and sound more well spoken.
And then as if he wasn’t already under a love spell specifically designed to turn a person into a feral lunatic, the guy smiles at him and it’s enough to torpedo the last scrap of his sanity.
Every metaphor that you’ve ever heard about a smile being brighter than the sun? Each and every one must’ve been written specifically for this person. His gorgeous smile is blinding enough that Wille now has to stumble his way out of this park and head straight to an optometrist to get his eyes checked.
It’s really not fair. Looking this good and having a smile like that. Whatever higher power is in charge of genetics must’ve said “hold my beer” and cracked their knuckles when the time came to write this guy’s DNA.
“You could have a concussion, so take it easy.”
And with those parting words, the sexy stranger fucking winks at him, stands up with his frisbee, and jogs away like he hasn’t just thrown Wille’s entire world so far off its axis that it’s now barreling down a steep hill toward explosive impact.
Wille slumps back on the bench, feeling like he’s been in a hit and run. Like he’s been rammed in the face and left sprawled out on the sidewalk fighting for his life. Completely helpless, battered, bruised, and more aroused than he thought humanly possible.
He looks down at the worn paperback in his lap and actually laughs out loud. He may never be able to focus on a single word again, let alone try to get back to his reading right now.
Across the park, he watches the shirtless god talk to his companion, a girl with a dark ponytail, then pick up a bag and disappear into the horizon like a sexy apparition.
Wille has never been a believer in love at first sight. And that’s still the case, but he’s never stopped to consider the existence of lust at first sight. Well, he just experienced first-hand that it only takes a single glance to fall completely and hopelessly in lust with someone.
And now, if you’ll excuse him, he needs to take a cold shower.
Hej då.
🌤️ THE END 🌤️
Just kidding!
Wille picks up his crossbody bag, tucks his book away, and walks out the park toward downtown. Where is he going? Excellent question. He’s debating between his apartment to get a room with himself, the hospital for a brain transplant, or some sort of space center so he can jettison himself into the sun.
He settles for a nearby coffee shop for a latte. Because caffeine is totally going to help calm his manic thoughts and nervous horny energy.
He’s standing in the short line, debating if he should say fuck it and ask for a triple shot when he hears a voice from behind.
“How’s your head?”
Wille nearly snaps his own neck in his hurry to look back because he knows that voice.
Hot frisbee man is standing there in the line behind him looking like an angel sent from heaven. Or maybe a demon from hell, sent to lure him into temptation. If that’s the case, he’ll go willingly. Just say when.
The man, who is now tragically wearing a t-shirt, is still a little sweaty and smiling mischievously and so fucking perfect and Wille’s heart is racing so fast that he might need an ambulance. Stand by.
But then, in a startling moment of clarity, that amazing, incredible thing happens where the exact right response to a joke just pops into his head like magic. And that never happens to Wille. He always flounders in the moment and then thinks of a funny response like five business days later.
“Haven’t had any complaints.”
The responding giggle is music to his ears. He’d spend every last krona in his bank account to hear that laugh again. Even if only once. (But preferably on a loop and with both of them naked, just because.)
“I bet you haven’t,” the man replies with a playful arched eyebrow, then with a deliberate drawn-out slowness, he drags his eyes down Wille’s body without an ounce of shame.
Jesus fucking christ.
A throat clears behind him, but Wille can’t hear it. He’s under a spell. A lust spell.
Is the hot guy flirting with him?
Or has the delusion already set in?
As Wille stares and tries to come up with a clever response, he’s vaguely aware of a pesky voice saying something at his back, but it never quite reaches his consciousness.
Should he ask for his phone number? What are the chances that he can even get the words out? Slim to none…maybe he can just wave his phone in the guy’s face and he’ll get the hint.
“Next!”
This time the annoying voice cuts through the stupor enough to capture his attention. Reluctantly, he tears his eyes away and turns to see that the line has disappeared and the barista is staring at him impatiently.
“Uh…sorry. Can I get- ah…“ Wille stutters, feeling like a dumbass. He clears his throat and manages to get out, “One large oat latte.”
The barista taps his order into a tablet, “Anything else?”
And then it happens again. The brain fog lifts just long enough for him to say the exact right thing in the exact right moment. He can’t believe his brain is throwing him a lifeline instead of just being an asshole saboteur for once. He turns back to the beautiful man in line behind him and asks, “What are you having?”
A set of impossibly deep brown eyes widen in surprise at the question. Wille can’t help it when his own eyes drop down to the man’s lips which twitch with amusement, turning up a little at the corners.
“I’ll have the same.”
By the time Wille manages to tear his eyes away from the man’s lips and turn back around, the barista has already rung up the rest of the order and is brewing the lattes. He takes his time as he pays with his phone, trying to calm his nerves, and then with a deep breath he turns around to…no one.
He blinks at the empty spot where the man was just standing. There might as well be a puff of smoke and skid marks in his place. Did he seriously just get fucking ghosted before he even had the chance to ask for the guy’s phone number?
As depressing as that thought is, it would honestly be pretty believable given how far out of his league the stranger is.
Wille looks around the small interior of the coffee shop, which consists of a few window stools, a handful of regular two-top tables, a small station with supplies like sugars, napkins, and coffee stirrers, and a glass bakery display. It’s a futile effort. The shop is tiny enough that there’s nowhere the man could possibly be hiding.
Disappointment rains down on him like a sudden deluge in a thunderstorm, soaking him through until he’s left miserably cold and weighed down with a heavy sodden heart.
“Two oat lattes,” the barista calls from the counter.
Wille looks over to where the barista has just placed two wide-brimmed latte cups and his eye twitches. Drawn on top of each latte is a perfect milky heart. She might as well have run Wille’s own fragile heart straight through a coffee grinder.
Welp. At least he can attempt to drown his sorrows in two giant lattes. Though he wishes he had some whiskey to turn these into Irish Coffees so he could really drown out the prickly ache of rejection and pangs of regret burrowing into his stomach.
He gingerly picks up the first latte by the saucer. It’s filled right to the brim and precariously close to spilling over, so he lifts it to his mouth and takes a careful sip to make it carry-able.
Right as he’s going to pick up the other latte, an arm reaches past him to pick it up. A perfectly sculpted, deliciously veiny, tan arm that looks perfect for throwing a frisbee or shoving Wille face first into a mattress.
Wille’s brain goes haywire as he glances over his shoulder. The man is back from oblivion and casually reaching for his own latte like he hasn’t just completely wrecked Wille emotionally. And he’s so fucking close that Wille can smell him. Goddamn, this has to be the most intoxicating scent he’s ever had the pleasure of smelling. Warm and woodsy and something else that he can’t quite put a finger on, but it has him desperate to bury his nose in the man’s skin and take a giant whiff.
“I got us a table upstairs,” the man says with a smile. He drops his lips to the rim of the cup and takes a slow sip, his eyes sparkling with warmth and a hint of mischief.
They have an upstairs seating area? He got them a table? Why the hell didn’t he say anything before so abruptly vanishing? They are going to sit together and drink coffee? Is this…a date? How many more questions can Wille ask himself before this starts to feel like real life?
“Ah, you have a bit of—“ the man says pointing at his own lips with an amused and teasing smile.
“Hmm?” Wille asks distractedly, vacantly staring at the man’s plump lips again…which is totally not his fault. The guy pointed to them! It’s his duty to look.
And look he does. The only coherent thought running through his head is that these have got to be the most kissable lips he’s ever laid eyes on. And he can’t stop the horny scumbag part of his brain from chiming in that these are also the most fuckable lips he’s ever seen.
“You have some foam…”, the man trails off. Then without any goddamn warning, he lifts a hand up and gently brushes a thumb over Wille’s upper lip, presumably wiping away a milk mustache.
Fuck.
All of the air leaves Wille’s lungs as the man lowers his hand and gently sucks his thumb into his mouth, maintaining eye contact with a playful glint in his eye.
Double fuck.
This is one billion percent the hottest thing that has ever happened to Wille and based on the tightening in the crotch of his jeans, he’d wager that his cock agrees.
Wille is still reeling from the reappearance of the man, the utter relief, the fucking sexy way he touched his mouth, the sucking on his finger, that he has to completely relearn how to walk before he manages to scramble after the man, who has crossed the cafe to walk up a short set of stairs that Wille completely missed before.
It’s truly a miracle when Wille manages to make it up the staircase with both the latte and himself still in tact, because about halfway up he catches sight of the most glorious ass he’s ever seen and he almost takes a tumble.
How the fuck did he miss this before? It must have been the temporary blindness from the perfect smile. That’s the only reasonable explanation for overlooking such an important detail.
A once in a lifetime kind of ass. An ass for the ages. An ass that could launch a thousand ships.
Sorry, ignore that. Wille’s brain is malfunctioning in real time.
The man leads him to an empty corner where his gym bag is saving a place with two low armchairs and a small table in the middle. Carefully setting down his coffee, Wille sits in one of the armchairs. He smooths his hands over his thighs as he tries really fucking hard to get a single word out. He’s dying to know the man’s name, but being the most awkward person to ever exist, a simple introduction is just too much to ask.
The man smirks at him around the rim of his cup, but he doesn’t say anything.
Wille doesn’t say anything.
No one says anything.
Total silence.
Wille is pretty sure he just heard a pin drop.
More smirking.
More silence.
Wille wouldn’t mind if an airplane fell from the sky and obliterated him right now.
There’s that silence again.
“Wilhelm,” he says abruptly.
Fuck shit goddammit. That wasn’t even a full sentence, you bastard.
The man raises an eyebrow.
Wille might as well introduce himself as Santa Claus given how undoubtedly red his burning cheeks are right now.
“I’m Wilhelm,” he sputters out. “Erm- no! Wille.” WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT AIRPLANE?
“Hi Wilhelm slash Wille,” the other man grins. “I’m Simon.”
Wille blushes yet again. He’s so pleased to know sexy frisbee man’s name, but also embarrassed beyond belief by his awkward buffoonish behavior. Breathing deep, he wills himself to get. his. shit. together. He’s always been awkward, especially in public when he doesn’t know someone well (small talk is his own personal hell), but he’s never been this bad.
“Thank you for the coffee,” the man—no Simon says as he takes another long sip.
“Anytime.” Truly. Anytime. Any place. Wille would buy Simon a coffee every second from now until the end of time if he’d let him.
“I might just take you up on that,” Simon replies with a wink.
God, another wink? Is he trying to kill him?
Wille really isn’t used to all of this flirty banter. Especially with someone he hasn’t even had a real conversation with yet. Unfortunately his brain can’t really keep up.
“Do you- ah…play frisbee often?” Wille asks with an actual grimace because what the fuck kind of question is that?
Simon chuckles, “Not so much. Mostly football.”
Wille nods casually, but inwardly he’s slapping himself because he’s managed to start a conversation he absolutely cannot contribute a single thing to. Classic.
“Do you read in the park often?” Simon asks in a jokey tone, clearly mocking Wille’s dumb frisbee question.
Wille shifts in his chair, laughing a bit, “Would it be lame to say that I do it every day?”
“Oh totally.”
“Never. I never read in the park.”
Simon throws his head back with a laugh. At the infectious sound, Wille feels the slab of awkward tension that’s wedged in his stomach start to loosen up a bit.
Simon looks up through his eyelashes and raises a roguish eyebrow, “Just an excuse to cruise guys then?”
Wille’s mouth drops open in shock prompting another laugh from Simon. He racks his brain for a clever response and oh wait, he’s got it—
“It worked, didn’t it?” Wille asks with his own raised eyebrow, inwardly very proud of his witty reply.
Simon ducks his head with a smile and takes a sip of coffee, “It remains to be seen.” There’s something in his tone that sounds like an open invitation and there’s no way in hell Wille isn’t going to immediately RSVP ‘fuck yes.’
Wille steels himself with another mouthful of coffee. He can’t let someone as perfect as Simon slip through his fingers. He’s going to ask for his phone number. He can do this. It’s a simple question.
Lifting the coffee to his lips again just for something to do with his nervous hands, Wille opens his mouth to ask, “Can…uh-“
However, his question is cut short by the fucking sexiest thing his eyes have ever had the privilege of witnessing. Simon is licking a stray drop of coffee off the side of his mug and he is staring directly into Wille’s eyes while he does it. Slowly.
Asdjfkjkl;dsdf.
And just like that, Wille ceases to function as a human being and spills half of his coffee down the front of his blue polo.
Cool.
This is fine.
Why not, you know?
Wille doesn’t even do anything to save himself. He just stares down at his shirt in a daze as the warm drink seeps through the fabric; a dark stain already forming all down his front.
Simon, on the other hand, gasp-laughs and flies out of his chair. He’s back in seconds with a handful of napkins and then he fucking crouches in front of Wille to press a napkin into his hand. He then starts patting another napkin on the worst of the coffee mess at the center of Wille’s chest.
Wille is too stunned to do anything. He just watches with wide eyes and uneven breaths as Simon dabs at the front of his shirt. He can smell him again. And he can feel the warmth of his fingers even through the damp material of his shirt. The most temptingly touchable head of hair is right in front of his face. He’s dying to run his fingers through the soft curls, and bury his nose in them, and nuzzle the fuck out of them.
It’s weird. This is the most mortifying thing that has happened the entire time he’s been in Simon’s presence (and possibly his whole life) and yet, he’s weirdly okay with it. It’s worth it to hear Simon’s irresistible laugh and to get a glimpse of him up close and personal.
“You missed a spot,” Wille quips, surprising himself.
Simon giggles, dropping the napkins with a resigned shake of his head, “What are we going to do with you?”
Wille blushes. He can think of a few things.
“I live upstairs. You can borrow a shirt.”
Wille freezes, breath catching in his throat. It can’t be that easy, can it?
Simon stands and picks up his latte, draining the cup with one long chug. Wille watches the movement of his throat as he swallows and his mouth goes dry.
He’s going to Simon’s apartment. They are going to be alone…probably? What started out as a boring Tuesday afternoon is slowly but surely turning into the most surprising and hopefully most erotic day of his life. Fingers crossed.
“Follow me,” Simon says with a tilt of his head. Wille shakily stands and follows him down the stairs; his body temperature rising a degree with each step. Simon leads him out of the coffee shop and turns left, stopping at the very next building over where he waves a fob to open a lobby door.
While riding the elevator, they watch each other’s reflection in the mirrored door. At first, Wille's face burns bright red when he sees the massive coffee stain down his front. But then it’s the sight of Simon raking his eyes all over his chest and looking up at his reflection with dark eyes that makes Wille hot all over.
Fuck. He may not survive this elevator ride, let alone entering the hottest guy ever’s apartment. If he had any self-preservation, he’d hit the button for the lobby and ride the elevator right back down to reality.
Simon’s apartment is the first one off the elevator. Wille didn’t really have any time for expectations, but he’s still surprised to find himself standing inside a very cozy studio apartment (hell yes, no roommate). The first thing that draws his attention like a magnet is a large bed, which sits square in the middle of the room like a centerpiece. With fluffy white bedding, it looks soft and inviting and perfect for being straddled on.
Simon slips his shoes off and walks straight over to an oak dresser in the corner of the room. He opens the middle drawer and pulls out a neatly folded gray t-shirt.
Wille hesitates to take his own shoes off. He hasn’t exactly been invited inside. His inner saboteur perks up just long enough to warn him that he may only be here for all of two minutes to change shirts, and then Simon will send him on his way to have a nice life.
When Simon turns around and sees Wille hovering awkwardly in the entryway, he huffs out an amused laugh and beckons him over, “Come in, Wille.”
Cheering internally, Wille reaches down to pull off his white sneakers and drops his bag, then he walks over to where Simon is holding out the shirt. When he gets closer, Wille sees that it’s actually a graphic tee. He snorts when he reads written on the front in a loopy font: Emotionally Unavailable.
“Is this some sort of hint?” Wille jokes, taking the shirt from Simon.
With a playful smile on his face, Simon shrugs, “Why? You interested?”
Wille stares at him. He knows it’s a joke, but with a sudden and overwhelming fierceness, he realizes that he is interested. Very, very interested.
Obviously it’s no surprise that he wants Simon physically. But underneath the dizzying fog of horniness, he’s surprised to discover a different sort of simmering desire. An almost oppressive need to know this person on a deeper level.
But he can’t say that out loud. So far the vibes have very much been pointing towards a potential one night stand, and to try to get feelings involved would surely scare Simon off. And to be honest, the potent yearning that’s unexpectedly threatening to consume him - well, it’s enough to almost scare himself off. He can’t risk ruining his one chance to get closer to Simon in whatever way he’ll let him.
So, rather than give an honest answer, he decides to lean into the horny vibes. He takes a step closer and drops his voice a few notches to murmur, “I think I’m more interested in knowing if you’re physically available.”
Simon’s eyes flicker with surprise, then darken. He also takes a step forward, making Wille’s breath hitch. He says in an equally low voice, “Did you really just say that out loud?”
Wille drops the t-shirt onto the edge of the bed and takes yet another step closer until he’s hovering over Simon. Still not touching, but so close. “Is that a bad thing?” Wille asks in a hushed voice.
Simon gazes into his eyes for a beat then he replies, “Isn’t it generally considered rude to tell someone you only want them for their body?” In spite of the heaviness of those words, Simon is still so fucking soft and seems very fine with it.
“I mean, when a body looks like this…” Wille trails off as he lifts a hand to gently cup Simon’s elbow, lightly stroking the soft skin.
The thick sexual tension radiating between them is so palpable that Wille is almost desperate to snap it in half for some relief, but at the same time, to live forever in this moment, inhaling the intoxicating fumes between them like a drug.
His fingers trail up the firm muscles of Simon’s arm and under the sleeve of his shirt, caressing impossibly soft skin with barely-there pressure. He feels Simon lean into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed. Wille takes the opportunity to shamelessly study Simon’s stunning features. How beautifully his dark eyelashes stand out against his golden skin. The delicate slope of his nose. The alluring curve of his cupid’s bow. The mouthwatering fullness of his bottom lip. The tempting cascade of silky curls over his forehead.
Wille lifts his other hand to brush a curl to the side and Simon’s eyes blink open. In the hazy, muted light filtering in through the curtains, the velvety pools of his dark eyes are so fucking captivating; it’s like staring into the sun.
Abruptly, he is snapped out of the trance when Simon reaches for the hem of his polo and deftly pulls it over his head. A lightning bolt of arousal shoots straight through him when Simon’s lips drop to his chest and kiss a line down the center of his torso, right between his pecs.
“You taste like coffee,” Simon murmurs against his skin.
Heat pools heavily in his abdomen as Simon’s tongue swirls around the skin of his chest, sucking lightly.
Fucking. Hell.
A soft tongue flicks over his nipple, tearing a desperate moan from his throat. Simon’s hands slip around his waist, warmly dragging across his skin as his mouth continues its path up to his neck with the most unrushed, intentional nips and licks.
The slowness of Simon’s movements, combined with the dreamlike vibes emanating between them in the warm sun drenched room, is making Wille have a total out of body experience. It’s like he’s hovering above them, watching with bated breath as Simon languidly takes him apart.
Under the attention of Simon’s mouth, Wille stands in a daze; his hands unmoving where they rest on his shoulders. But he should really put them to good use. There’s no rush really, but it still somehow feels like even a millisecond not touching Simon is a millisecond wasted.
With surprisingly nimble fingers, he quickly pulls Simon’s t-shirt off and stares at his chest with reverence. He’s so fucking hot. Almost lazily, he skims a hand over the soft skin of his waist while the other splays between his shoulders to pull him further into his arms.
Heated chests press together firmly and the soft glide of their bare skin sends a flutter of tingly goosebumps up and down his entire body. He hears Simon make a soft noise in the back of his throat from where he’s buried in Wille’s neck and it sends another spark of desire straight down his stomach, making his erection twitch in his pants.
(This erection, incidentally, is legendary. He’s never been this hard, this fast. Honestly, he may have never been this hard period.)
He drops his lips to the crease between Simon’s shoulder and neck, kissing softly, then he runs his hands all over the smooth expanse of his back and shoulders, massaging the firm muscles he finds there. They are pressed so close that he can feel every beat of the other man’s heart, which perfectly matches the rhythm of Simon’s kisses across his jaw.
Dimly, Wille is struck with the thought of how odd it is that they haven’t kissed yet. It’s almost amusing how backwards it is, and for some stupid reason, it makes him think of Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman and her rule about no kissing on the mouth and why the fuck is he thinking so much when he could be sticking his tongue down Simon’s throat and/or dry humping the hell out of him?
To kill two birds, he slips one hand behind Simon’s neck and the other slides down to his ass. He squeezes one cheek, fondly noting that it’s a perfect handful, before pulling their hips together. Simon moans into his ear, where he’s currently nibbling at the lobe, and rocks himself forward. Wille attempts to pull Simon upwards for that kiss, but he resists.
“Hang on,” Simon mumbles, separating his mouth from Wille’s skin.
Oh god, he wants to stop. He must’ve come to his senses and realized just how low he’s slumming it. He’s probably about to ask him to leave. If that’s the case, Wille can’t resist grabbing one more greedy handful of ass for the road.
Simon pushes him away and holds him at arms length. Here it comes…
“I have to brush my teeth.”
Wille blinks.
That is….not what he was expecting.
Simon lets out a sheepish laugh, “I have coffee breath and it is atrocious. I can taste it.”
Filled to the brim with relief and giddiness because Simon isn’t kicking him out, Wille can’t help it when he bursts out laughing. In the middle of the helpless giggles, he jokes, “I didn’t want to say anything…”
Simon shoves him lightly with an exasperated huff, but there’s a big smile on his face. “Be right back,” he says, already halfway across the room.
While he’s gone, Wille cups a hand around his mouth to smell his own breath. There is a hint of coffee there, so he quickly goes to his bag, pulls out a piece of gum, and speed-chews it until he hears the sink turn off in the bathroom. He spits it into a trash can in the small kitchen.
When the bathroom door reopens, Wille is back standing in the same spot by the bed. Simon takes his sweet ass time sauntering over to him with a naughty smirk resting on face. Every step he takes makes Wille’s cock pulse in anticipation. Jesus christ, how can someone make walking across a room so fucking sexy? He is torn between loving the suspense and losing his mind with maddening impatience. He’s beyond desperate to get his hands back on Simon. And he needs to kiss him. Like, now.
Wille expects the unhurried, sedated vibes to continue when Simon reaches him again, but good god was he wrong. As soon as Simon is close enough to touch, he unceremoniously shoves Wille backwards onto the bed and climbs into his lap.
An eager mouth is on his before his brain has even had a chance to catch up. A wave of minty freshness hits him square in the face as soft lips move against his, at first hungry and messy then curious and gentle. Wille captures Simon’s bottom lip between his, sucking lightly, coaxing a low moan from between their parted mouths.
As far as first kisses go, this has to be a contender for the best one of all time. There are no clacking teeth or weirdly placed chins or awkward attempts to find the right angle. No wavering or fumbling. A perfect kiss.
And Wille is fucking insane because he thought all of that before Simon has even slipped his tongue into his mouth.
A soft, swirling tongue moves against his, tasting and exploring, drawing tiny whimpers out of him.
Okay, now it’s a perfect kiss.
Each lick of Simon’s tongue sends a spark of desire straight to his groin. He grips Simon’s hips and pulls them flush against his. Simon sinks all of his weight down, resulting in perfect pressure on his aching cock. He slides his hands around to grip that glorious ass, rocking Simon over his erection.
Out of nowhere, a vivid image pops into his mind of his bare cock pressed against Simon’s bare ass, rubbing between his ass cheeks, and the mere thought makes him absolutely feral.
New goal unlocked.
In one surprisingly smooth motion, which he mentally pats himself on the back for, Wille flips them over, slotting himself right in between Simon’s legs, which swiftly wrap around his waist. They grind against each other, making out, for god knows how long until Wille remembers the important item at the top of his to do list.
Pulling back just enough to snake his hands between their bodies, he grips the waistband of Simon’s gym shorts and easily yanks them down along with his briefs. Fuck yes that was satisfying. It should be a legal requirement for someone as hot as Simon to wear gym shorts 24/7 simply for ease of access.
Simon gasps at the abrupt move, lifting his hips to let Wille drag the shorts down his legs and off. Wille stares at Simon’s leaking cock hungrily then his eyes travel up to find a look of pure lust on his face. Eyes dark. Swollen mouth hanging slightly open with desire. Cheeks flushed a deep, rosy pink.
If Wille had a canvas and a paintbrush (and any sort of talent or knowledge of painting), he’d pause to paint Simon right now, because he is so gloriously hot that he deserves to be immortalized forever. And a picture simply wouldn’t do it justice. But maybe he should take one anyway - just in case.
Ugh, focus. Wille really wishes he could turn off his brain sometimes. When is someone going to invent that technology?
…or maybe that’s just drugs?
Not important, Wilhelm!
“Take off your pants,” Simon says firmly, snapping Wille out of his stupor.
Yes, great idea. Pants are counterintuitive to his objective of getting his erection between those ass cheeks.
Wille sits back on his haunches and undoes his jeans, relieved to get his dick out of the tight confines and closer to Simon. He ungracefully kicks them off, making Simon chuckle underneath him, then he’s back on top of him, but this time it’s glorious flesh on flesh and it feels so fucking good that it can’t possibly be real life. This must be an erotic dream and if anybody even attempts to wake him up, he’ll rip them to shreds.
Unrestrained moans tumble from their entwined lips as their cocks rock together. A surge of dizzying pleasure falls over Wille as Simon grabs his ass and increases the speed of their thrusts. Wille is tempted to say fuck it and just stay in this position forever - or at least until he comes all over Simon, which is not going to take long - but he has a goal dammit and a person should never give up on their dreams.
Shoot for the stars, Wilhelm!
So, he shifts onto his knees, eliciting an unhappy whimper from Simon which is definitely the cutest thing ever, then he takes him by the hips and flips him onto his stomach.
Holy mother of god. Simon’s bare ass is perfection. That’s it. He’s signing up for art classes as soon as they are done here. Which, if he has any say, will be never.
After adoringly running his hands over the supple skin, he drapes himself over Simon’s back and slides his aching cock right between his flawless ass cheeks. Mission accomplished. Simon groans, pushing back against him, “Fuck, Wille.”
This is one of those rare moments in which reality is so much better than expectations. His eyes roll back in his head as Simon begins rocking his hips back in a steady rhythm, all the while moaning softly and sounding so fucking sexy Wille can barely stand it.
Wille drags his lips across the back of Simon’s neck. “Fuck, you are so hot it’s unreal,” he whispers into Simon’s ear.
Simon looks back over his shoulder to capture his lips in a slightly awkward, but oh so delicious kiss. Their tongues are slick and urgent as they tangle together. The friction of Simon’s ass against his sensitive cock is perfect in every way and completely overwhelming. Enough so that he feels himself getting close just from this and he can’t even be mad about it.
However, it would appear that Simon has other plans. “Do you want to finger me?” Simon asks huskily.
God yes.
“Is that a rhetorical question?”
Simon laughs breathlessly, “Lube is in the drawer.”
Separating his cock from Simon’s ass is nearly impossible, but he manages (though not without four or five more thrusts and a quick squeeze for good measure).
Because getting up would require too much effort, he stretches his body across the bed until his fingertips just barely reach the top drawer of the nightstand, searching blindly and somewhat frantically until his fingers graze a plastic bottle. He holds it up to make sure it’s lube and a surprised laugh bubbles out of him.
“What?” Simon asks, looking back over his shoulder.
Wille holds up the bottle with a raised eyebrow, “Birthday cake flavored lube?”
Simon’s eyes go wide and he groans loudly, burying his face in the mattress, “Oh my god. I forgot that was in there.”
“What - do you only use this on your birthday or—?”
Simon groans again, though it is muffled by the duvet under which he is now fully hiding, “It was a gag gift from my friend for my birthday. I’ve never used it.”
“Emphasis on the gag?” Wille teases, popping the cap for a sniff. It smells truly disgusting.
An embarrassed laugh floats out from below the covers, “There’s a normal bottle in there.”
“Oh you don’t want your ass to smell like vanilla icing and sprinkles?”
He hears a smothered “shut up” combined with a faint cackle and sees the bedding shift as Simon shuffles closer under the duvet. Eventually, his face pops out right in front of him with a wide smile and disheveled curls. Abruptly, Simon wrenches the birthday cake lube out of his hand and flings it across the room, prompting a laugh from Wille.
There’s something so fucking adorable and playful about Simon right now that it makes Wille’s stomach swoop a little. This entire time he’s been radiating confidence and charm, so effortlessly cool, but now it feels like he’s letting his guard down a bit and allowing something a little more human (and less god-like) to peek through the smooth exterior. Feeling almost dizzy with a sudden wave of affection, he ducks down and captures Simon’s lips in a fierce kiss, running a hand through his tousled curls. He can feel Simon’s smile against his lips and his chest is so light he might just float away into space, over the moon, and (after consulting Google maps) float right back into Simon’s arms.
Simon breaks the kiss after a minute and crawls out from under the covers and over to the drawer where he pulls out a normal bottle of lube, shaking it in Wille’s face like he should’ve known where it was all along. After squeezing some into his palm, he straddles Wille’s hips and wraps a hand around his cock. Wille gasps and grabs Simon’s waist, clinging to him for dear life.
His eyes greedily take in each and every tiny detail of Simon perched on his lap, looking like the perfect fantasy come to life. Tan thighs splayed out on either side of his hips, the flushed cock leaking against his upper thigh, the veins in his hand flexing as he pulls on his cock, the tongue darting out to lick his kiss-bitten lips, the quivering muscles of his abs.
The hot, slick friction of Simon’s hand moving over his cock, slowly at first but now with more determination, rapidly ignites a blaze of intense pressure in his gut and a throbbing in his balls and fuck, he’s gonna come, but he hasn’t fingered Simon yet and that just won’t do—
“Ah, fuck - wait, I’m not - I’m gonna—“ he babbles, barely able to string a coherent thought together as he stares down between their bodies with awe.
Simon doesn’t stop. If anything, his wrist picks up speed as he leans over to whisper hotly into his ear, “I want you to come.”
Wille moans deep at those words. There’s no way in hell he’s gonna last after hearing Simon whisper in his ear like that. But still, even amidst the overwhelming pleasure, he’s a little disappointed with himself. This feels premature, but to be honest, it’s a miracle he’s lasted this long given how insanely hot Simon is.
And then Simon lifts his other hand to run a thumb over the weeping tip of his cock and all thoughts slip away. He squeezes his eyes shut and gives in to the feeling, blocking out the sunlight until his entire world is just a tight, wet fist.
That is until Simon murmurs into his ear, “That’s it. Come for me, baby.” And he’s coming harder than ever with a crazy sound wrenching itself from his throat. Pleasure zips all through his body and for a second it feels like his heart stops. Then, pure bliss and boneless limbs and sated drowsiness.
The first thought that enters his consciousness is that he wants to kiss that beautiful frisbee for hitting him in the head and setting into motion the series of events that led him here to this exact moment in time with this exact person.
The second thought that enters his head is far less insane. And that is to remind himself that he needs to rejoin the world of the living so he can see what Simon’s face looks like when he comes.
He blinks open a single groggy eye. Simon is still there in his lap watching him with an amused look on his face, gently stroking Wille’s stomach with one hand and palming his own cock with the other.
“You good?” Simon asks with a laugh and a tinge of smugness.
“Hell yes,” Wille sighs happily, stretching his arms above his head. “That was really outstanding.” Omg, did he really just say that out loud?
Simon’s entire face lights up with a delighted laugh, “Outstanding, huh? And what would you rate it on a scale of one to ten?”
Wille doesn’t miss a beat when he replies with a very matter-of-fact, “Fifteen.”
Simon giggles and his gorgeous brown eyes crinkle up at the corners. it’s so fucking cute that Wille can’t stop himself from taking ahold of the man and rolling them so he’s on top, stealing his lips for a kiss, then dropping down to his neck to nip and suck at the delicate skin over his pulse. Simon leans into his mouth and wraps his arms and legs around him, rubbing his cock against the cum on Wille’s stomach.
Without pulling away, Wille feels around in the bed until he comes up with the lube. He rolls them onto their sides and lifts Simon’s thigh over his hip, sliding one hand down to Simon’s ass to brush a finger over his hole, circling slowly as he slips his tongue into his mouth, happily drinking up the glorious sounds coming from the man. Simon squirms next to him, hooking his thigh a little higher over Wille’s hip to spread himself open wider.
When Simon begins pushing back against his hand, Wille breaks away to quickly lube up his fingers, then he slips a finger inside, absolutely obsessed with the sight of Simon’s mouth dropping open in pleasure.
Wille draws out the stretching until Simon is a shaking, quivering mess in his arms, rocking himself sideways as Wille eagerly fucks him with three fingers. Wille is debating if he’s flexible enough to turn this into a blow job/fingering situation when Simon breathes against his lips, “There’s a condom in the drawer.”
Such a simple sentence and yet it hits Wille like a dropkick to the chest.
He’s going to fuck Simon.
The thought hadn’t even dared cross his mind, even when knuckle deep inside him. His cock was already stirring awake from watching Simon writhe against his hand, but with the brand new knowledge that he’s about to sink into Simon’s tight heat, his erection hath risen again.
This is the best day ever. Maybe they should’ve used the birthday cake lube after all, so he could make a wish for this day to never end. That’s not how that works, Wilhelm.
Wille dives for the drawer and this time he uses his eyeballs to make sure he’s not grabbing some sort of weird holiday-themed condom. This is not the time for fun and games. Not when he’s seconds away from being inside Simon.
After setting the world record for putting on a condom and lubing up his dick, Wille proceeds to fuck Simon into the mattress until he can’t remember his own name. Good thing Simon seems to remember it, because it’s one of a string of words that fly out of his mouth over and over as Wille pounds into him again and again.
Also included on that list: fuck, fuck me, holy fuck, please, harder, never stop or I’ll kill you, fuck yes, there, right there, right fucking there. Not that Wille’s keeping track or anything.
Finally, after they’ve tried out a few different positions and Simon has practically recited the entire dictionary, Wille has Simon on his back and their sweaty chests are pressed tightly together and he’s so deep he might need a map to find his way back out. Simon’s leaking cock is in his palm and his head is thrown back and Wille has never seen anything more beautiful.
JK, two minutes later when Simon comes all over his own stomach with a shaky exhale and a raspy moan, that’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
He follows Simon over the edge with a series of erratic thrusts and his face buried in Simon’s neck, his stomach trembling and pulse racing.
They lay in silence, chests heaving, still pressed tightly together, as they come down from the high, until Simon breaks the silence with a deadpan, “Outstanding.”
Wille shakes with laughter, jostling their bodies. He raises his head from Simon’s chest and his smile slips as he stares down at Simon’s smiling face, suddenly overcome with too many thoughts and feelings and urges.
He shouldn’t do it. It’s not appropriate for a one night stand. Definitely too tender for a casual hookup. Too intimate when he doesn’t even know his last name. But he can’t help it.
He leans forward and kisses him on the forehead, lips lingering for too long.
He shouldn’t think it. It’s too slippery of a slope. Too dangerous when he has no idea what this is or if he’ll ever even see this person again after today. But it’s too late. The thought is already there in the forefront of his mind, lit up like a marquee.
He could get used to this.
☀️ ☀️ ☀️
They stay buried under the covers until the sun goes down, not really saying much, just content with the comfortable silence, dozing off but never really sleeping. Wille even manages to bat away the sabotaging voice in the back of his mind which tries to convince him that Simon really wants him to leave, but he’s just too polite to say it out loud. Wille might be bad at small talk and generally too awkward to function, but he’s excellent at reading people. Often it feels like he’s better in tune with other people’s emotions than his own.
And right now, he’s not getting any vibes from Simon that he wants him to leave. In fact, Wille can’t remember ever feeling quite this comfortable around another person, let alone a stranger he just had sex with. He hardly knows a single thing about Simon, except that he keeps revolting flavors of lube in his nightstand, he has terrible aim, and he has the best ass in the universe, and yet he feels connected to him in a way he can’t explain.
To his dismay, his bastard of a bladder apparently didn’t get the memo that he plans to never leave this bed again, and pokes at him until he can’t hold it any longer. Grudgingly, he excuses himself to go the bathroom and when he returns, Simon is dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie and changing his sheets. His body language is making it very clear that it’s time to wrap it up. Wille inwardly curses out his bladder for bursting the bubble. If he could, he’d slap it across the face.
Taking the hint, he glumly starts to pull his own clothes back on, wavering between the stained polo and Simon’s graphic tee. His foolish desire to remain close to Simon wins out in the end, so he pulls the t-shirt over his head and hell yes it smells like him.
When he turns back to Simon, he’s met with a gentle smile. “Thank you for stopping by,” Simon says, stepping forward to give him a quick hug.
Wille swallows back the disappointed lump in his throat. He was really hoping Simon would give him a kiss and spark some confidence in him; give him the courage to ask for his phone number.
But the hug confuses him, so he does nothing.
Screw what he said earlier about being able to read people, because he has no fucking clue how to read Simon right now. He’s being sweet and kind, but detached. Completely different from the flirty person he arrived here with. And that feels purposeful enough that he can’t ignore it.
All signs are pointing to a goodbye. And that’s just about the most depressing thing ever, but Wille has to respect it. This is a one night stand for Simon and that’s all it will ever be.
So he picks up his polo, walks over to shove it in his bag, and steps into his shoes. “Thank you for the shirt,” Wille says as he shoulders his bag. “This was - I had a good time.”
Understatement of the century. It was the best time and it’s over. Fuck.
Simon hums in agreement, squeezes his arm, and opens the door. Wille steps into the hallway and feels all the hope flee his body and scatter like cockroaches under a harsh fluorescent light as they say goodbye.
He smiles back at Simon one last time and then it’s over.
☀️ ☀️ ☀️
Well, there it is. The closed door. A physical barrier between him and the one person he wants to know more than anything, and a metaphorical seal between him and what is undoubtedly going to be his greatest regret. As he turns to walk away, wistfulness and self-loathing and frustration rain down on him like ash from a volcano, clouding his every thought in darkness and tainting the air in his lungs until all he can take are shallow, uneven breaths. Why the fuck is he walking away?
Each echoey footstep down the hallway feels like a step in the wrong direction. Pressing the call button for the elevator feels like hitting the eject button in a cockpit knowing full well that there’s no parachute. His stomach lurches on the descent, desperate to defy gravity and stay up on a higher floor with the butterflies. The lobby door rests heavy against his hand, weighing him down like a sandbag meant to keep him in place, right where he belongs.
This isn’t how it should be.
He’s never had a one night stand before, but this can’t be how it’s supposed to feel. Shouldn’t he be relaxed and wearing a shit-eating grin and skipping down the sidewalk because he just got laid?
It’s so the opposite. All of the nerves in his body are jumping under his skin, warning him, pleading with him that this is wrong. Every single synapse in his brain is firing, screaming at him that he’s making a huge mistake.
The lobby door closes behind him with a resounding thunk. The dull sound reverberates through his body, all the way down to his bones, like the tolling of bells, resonant and fading like a mournful conclusion.
God, what the fuck? When did he become Mr. Depressing? He just had incredible, life changing sex an hour ago and now he’s gone full emo? This is unacceptable. He can’t have started this day with nothing, been knocked upside the head with a frisbee, and end the day having lost something he didn’t even know was missing.
Nope.
No thank you.
Hard pass.
This whole woe-is-me thing just isn’t going to work. Not when he just held sunshine in the palm of his hand and there’s still a chance he could touch the light again.
Screw it. He’s going back in.
He turns on his heel and marches right up to the call box and fuck fuck fuckity fuck only the last names are listed. Okay, this is fine. He can figure this out. Which of these last names look like they belong to Simon?
Simon Larsson? Maybe.
Simon Ahlman? Possibly.
Simon Blomqvist? Could be.
Simon Eriksson? Certainly within the realm of possibilities.
Simon Elg? It’s giving moose and why the hell not.
UGH. It could be any of these. There are a dozen more last names and dammit they all fucking work with the name Simon…except maybe Simonsson. Great, he’s ruled one out. Nailed it.
Fuck it. Time to fail upwards. He hits like eight of the buttons and prays that someone is too trusting for their own good and will just hit the door buzzer.
Chaos ensues when several different voices try to speak into the intercom at the same time, but it doesn’t matter because it’s his motherfucking lucky day and the door buzzes open and he’s flying through it before he can give his asshole overthinking brain a chance to catch up.
He takes one look at the elevator and bypasses it. Too slow.
The stairs, though, he can take those two at a time.
As he runs up the steps, his mind is racing a mile a minute. The main thought running through his head is Simon Simon Simon Simon Simon and in the periphery of that thought is Don’t trip, don’t trip, don’t trip and somewhere in there he’s thinking this couldn’t get more Rom-Com if he tried.
Before he knows it, he reaches the fourth floor landing and goes to open the door, but he meets some resistance. The doorknob is twisting in the opposite direction and suddenly the door swings open to reveal the very person he’s running to.
Simon.
They stare at each other.
Wille is out of breath from the stair climb - not from the sudden proximity to beautiful, beautiful Simon - and he really hopes Simon doesn’t think that he’s gone full stalker, given that he’s just found him lurking in the stairwell wheezing like a total nutcase.
“You’re back.” Simon’s tone is difficult to read, maybe a little breathless, but it’s not giving ‘scared for his life’ or ‘totally perturbed’ or ‘about to call the police’ so Wille decides to roll with it.
“Yeah, um,” Wille swallows nervously. He can do this. “I just wanted you to know…you know, just in case you—um, just in case it makes a difference,” - Breathe, you idiot - “I’m emotionally available. Like, extremely available.”
Wille blushes, feeling like the lamest person of all time. To lean into the silliness of it all, he lifts a hand and covers the “un” in “unavailable” on the t-shirt.
Simon’s face is impassive as his eyes follow the movement of Wille’s hand to look at the center of his chest. Wille holds his breath, anxiously searching the other man’s face, trying to find a single clue as to how he’s feeling beneath the apathetic mask.
Then, the mask drops.
And inexplicably, a laugh. And a huge smile. And a hand is tugging on the t-shirt to pull him forward. And Wille is back in Simon’s arms. And unfortunately, he might cry.
Simon rocks them a bit, lifting a hand to brush a strand of hair out of Wille’s eyes. The laughter on his lips fades until all that’s left is a gentle smile and a soft gaze, “It’s funny you should say that…” His eyes flit down to Wille’s lips. “I was just on my way to tell you that I’m emotionally available.”
Wille’s breath hitches, “You were?”
“Actually, that’s a lie-“ Wille’s stomach drops as Simon shakes his head, “I think I might be emotionally taken by this really cute guy.”
HIs stomach swoops and honestly his sensitive system really can’t handle all of this emotional whiplash. He’s starting to feel a little queasy like he’s on a rollercoaster. But maybe, just maybe, it’s a love rollercoaster and if that’s the case, he wants to take another ride.
He presses himself a little closer to Simon’s chest and murmurs, “This cute guy…it wouldn’t happen to be me, would it?”
Simon scoffs playfully, “Very presumptuous of you, Wilhelm.”
Wille laughs, “If it’s not me, I feel pretty fucking sorry for this guy, because I’m about to kiss the hell out of his man.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Simon jokes, leaning in.
Wille lifts a hand off Simon’s chest and mimics pulling a zipper closed across his mouth, and then he does exactly what he said he was going to do. He kisses the hell out of Simon.
Now this. This is the perfect kiss. Because it means something.
In fact, there’s a good chance it means everything and Wille can’t wait to find out.
Simon walks him backwards out of the stairwell with a teasing smile, then he intertwines their fingers to pull him down the hall. Wille almost laughs at how fucking different this walk feels compared to the one he took ten minutes ago. Instead of heavy and foreboding, this feels like a walk on cloud nine.
Simon unlocks his apartment and they step inside. As Wille goes to pull his shoes off, he has to ask, “What’s your last name by the way?”
☀️ THE END ☀️