ax_main | Simon and Warren, backdated before the holiday break

Warren drops in to "help" Simon pack. They get a little distracted first, then talk holidays and get a bit mushy.

Warren knocked then directly poked his head in without waiting for a reply, as was his custom in Simon and JP's room. For once, it was Simon alone in the room--and he had his luggage out. Warren grinned and let himself in. "Packing eighty sweaters for the journey to the frozen north?"

Simon glanced up, in the process of folding something that looked suspiciously like an actual hoodie (and possibly thrift-store bought, even). He shoved it in the suitcase and straightened. "I've learned how to use a washing machine, Warren. Eighty is a little excessive."

"You know what I got you for Christmas? A book of literary devices. I highlighted all the ones I use in everyday speech. That one was 'hyperbole'." But Warren was grinning hugely, because his love of Simon's attitude when it came to his mode of speaking was endless. He came over and slung an arm over Simon's shoulder, looking into the suitcase. "Where'd you get a hoodie? Holy shit."

Simon ducked his head a little and closed the suitcase self-consciously. "There's a thrift shop near campus."

"I've still never been to a thrift shop. That seems criminal." Warren sighed, glossing over Simon's near-embarrassment--if that's what it was. "Shoulda done that before I did the whole 'look at me I have wings!' thing, probably. Just, didn't really occur to me until I didn't have money, which--cause and effect, right? Whoops.

"You'll look good in it. Very hip."

Looking up, Simon raised a brow. "Don't pity me."

"It's kind of nice that you think I'm in a position to pity anyone, especially you." Warren still smiled, running a hand through his hair. "In spite of the fact that we're in the exact same position."

It wasn't exact. Warren did still have his portfolio. But literally all of it was going to support their faux-apartment and PR people so...

Simon sighed softly. "Sorry. Defensive behavior often crops up in cases where our brains feel a greater need to help us survive. I suppose I'm psychologically wired to do so at the moment. I was also hoping that the change in wardrobe might make me less identifiable in public."

Warren brushed his lips over Simon’s temple, still smiling softly. “No need for apologies. Or defensiveness. But I’ll let you make it up to me this weekend if it’ll make you feel better.

“I’m serious though. Casual Simon sounds hot.”

"Wait until you see me in my rain boots," Simon told him wryly. But he turned to meet Warren's searching lips in a relieved kiss, breathing him in, letting some of the tension melt out of his shoulders with the scent of his soap and shampoo. Even the down of his feathers had a certain scent that was all Warren. Where at one time Simon was afraid of getting near him, now he couldn't wait to slip his arms around the other teen, brushing his fingers over the soft arch of bone and sinew powdered with feathers.

Warren's wings shivered happily under Simon's knowing touch. He slid his own hands beneath Simon's shirt, mussing him to get to a little skin. He liked the bit where Simon's hip bone angled into his underwear, the smooth muscle there. Hot nerds for the win. Warren brushed his thumb over the spot and hummed into Simon's lips. "Mmm. If you ever wonder why I don't mind when you get cranky with me: you're so good at making up. Also, it's cute."

Simon flushed a bit, though he couldn’t say if it was from embarrassment or arousal. Probably a bit of both. “Did you have a reason for coming to find me, or should I make it up to you now?”

"If I had a reason, I've forgotten it by now." Warren grinned and stole another kiss, this one hot with intent to escalate. He tugged Simon toward the couch by the front of his pants, two fingers hooked into his underwear in front, now. "I'll help you pack. Later."

Simon stumbled where Warren led, stealing another kiss in return, his fingers attempting to unfasten the other teen's shirt, maybe a little too eager. "Oh good. Later. We can..." and he trailed off, lips ghosting over Warren's jaw.

"Fucking right, we can." Warren smiled into Simon's hair even as he reversed their positions to put the back of Simon's knees against the couch. He shrugged off his shirt once it was unfastened under his wings, then started pushing Simon's up and yanking impatiently. There was something so crazy hot about Simon losing his cool, especially when he'd been so chill only moments ago, getting all smart ass and cute. Like peeling back gorgeous layers and getting to the even better stuff inside.

Having no idea how to articulate this, of course, Warren settled for physically peeling Simon's shirt off and throwing it after his own.

Simon sucked a breath, then tugged at Warren's jeans as he let himself drop to the couch. Just looking up at Warren like that, shirtless, wings flaring slightly, he felt his temperature rise, his breath quickening. "You drive me crazy..."

"You need a little crazy." Warren smirked, basking in that look. He dropped his jeans and stepped out of them, then directly into Simon's lap, straddling it. He sat himself right down and then rocked forward.

He meant to drop down to the floor momentarily. He'd worry about Simon's pants then.

Warren leaned in, palms flat against Simon's chest. "I knew it from the first time we met." He stole a sharp, biting kiss.

Simon made a sharp, surprised sound in the kiss, but without thinking, his hands gripped Warren’s ass, tugging him close. His whole world narrowed to just the two of them as a flush spread over his chest. “One of You is more than enough. Two of you will likely drive me insane,” he gasped out.

Warren rocked his hips into Simon, scooting as close and tight as possible. Simon’s hands had that effect on him. What could Warren say, he liked to be appreciated. He turned his attention to working the pulse point on the right side of Simon’s neck. “Or keep you just on the edge of it, then jerk you back just in time. That’s the best place for genius, right?”

"Where in the world did you hear that?" Simon breathed, his head spinning. Meanwhile, he found himself urging Warren on with his hands - his hips, shifting into every movement.

Voice dropping, becoming rough, Warren mumbled into Simon's neck: "It's obvious. All the greats are at least mostly crazy. Einstein. Nash. Mozart. Prince." He gave a warm puff of a chuckle and dipped his tongue into the cleft between Simon's collar bones.

Gasping softly, Simon dropped his head back, shivering at the sensation of his nipples hardening, his jeans growing uncomfortable. "You're...you're likening me to an eccentric..."

"I'm saying..." Warren lifted himself and readjusted to push Simon's legs apart and sink between them, sliding down to his knees on the floor and lifting his wings. He kissed his way down the middle of Simon's chest, palms sliding down his abs. Damn, this was one super hot nerd. "More crazy isn't always a bad thing. Not for a genius..."

Simon's eyes popped open, his gaze quickly moving to Warren's face. "Jesus, Warren..." he huffed a heated breath, unconsciously reaching for the sides of his face. "You don't need to-"

“-drive you crazier?” Warren looked up through tousled blond bangs and grinned, then went back to leaving a path of soft kisses on his way to Simon’s abs. “You might be the genius, but I’m Warren Worthington. I don’t do anything I don’t want.” He chuckled softly, a soft puff of air against Simon’s navel. He couldn’t help it, every time Simon got pedantic on him, Warren just wanted to make him come undone.

He glanced up again. “Say the word and I’ll stop. Always.” He moved slightly lower, this time leaving a faint pink mark. “Or don’t say the word. I promise not to go anywhere near your belly button. Also, always.”

Simon couldn't help but laugh and moan at the same time, his fingers slipping into Warren's hair, pushing those bangs back from his gorgeous eyes. Simon gazed down at him, breathless and a little flushed. "As long as you promise," he breathed out warmly, a little thrill jolting through his blood - not at the eroticism of it all, but because he had never felt so much in love with Warren than in that moment.

***

Some time later, a very relaxed, very happy Warren pulled on his shorts and threw his legs over Simon's lap, so his wings could stretch out behind him and hang off the little couch. "Epic," he said with a satisfied sigh.

Simon was still a bit cloudy-eyed where he sat, half-melted into the couch. He ran a hand over Warren's thigh, reveling in the way the nerve endings lit up, calling out to his senses. Or his... extra sense? Whatever. His senses. They were his, no matter what they were, and he loved the way he could let loose and use them without fear of reprimand around Warren and Jean-Paul. "Epic," he echoed agreeably, with a contented little hum.

Warren watched him for a moment, admiring Simon's profile with unabashed sappiness. The softness that came over his face when he let go for a little while, it was like being allowed to see into some secret, gentle, sweet part of Simon. The part that wanted nothing more than to help people, probably. It was some kind of crazy privilege, and it made Warren... frankly, mushy. His smile was ridiculous and he didn't care. "I'm actually looking forward to Christmas, for once. You?"

"I..." It was a serious enough question that Simon was forced out of his reverie, rolling his head to the side to meet Warren's gaze. "I'm going to miss my sister's role in the Nutcracker...and the saluting of the guns in Williamsburg. But... yes, I'm looking forward to Montreal. I'm especially looking forward to meeting Raymonde."

"Right?" Warren's grin went slightly less soppy and more amused. "JP isn't used to being the one with the functional family, I think. I'm kind looking forward to him getting that experience--and us getting to see it.

"Sucks about the ballet though. Clara is every little ballerina's dream."

"Yeah. She's played her for the past three years, but it's always kind of a family thing during the holidays," Simon told him, lazily stroking his thigh.

"Mmm," Warren was humming as much for the touch as in understanding. "Our only real family thing was getting trotted out for the big executive party. God, I dreaded it every year. The ballet sounds amazing."

"And Jean-Paul's crowded childhood bedroom?" Simon asked with a wry smile.

"Even better," Warren admitted. "I'm so curious about it. Like, people who basically chose to be a family. It sounds so... nice."

Simon hummed, laying his head back. "I know he had a rough childhood...but sometimes I truly envy him for what he found in Raymonde."

"I know, right." Warren sighed a little, unconsciously mimicking Simon's body language and letting his head loll to the side to rest on the couch. "If I believed in a god, I'd wonder why they made him pay early to have something late, and did the opposite with us. Though--not sure I'd pay for mine in retrospect." Simon had River, totally worth the pain, but Warren's... not like either of his parents or his missing-in-action diamond-thief of an uncle had said a word to him lately. And he couldn't even say he was sad about it.

Simon looked over at him, then reached out to brush his fingers through Warren’s hair. “You’ve got us.”

Warren leaned into the touch, then took Simon's hand and pressed his fingers to his lips. "Honestly, I don't think I could've done all this if I didn't. You're the best. Both of you."

There was a flush, even then, through Simon's cheeks and his chest - that bloom of emotion that he didn't know how to put into words. "The same goes for you."

Another kiss of his fingertips, and Warren grinned. "And we get to crash JP's happy family. We got it made, really."

"We do," Simon agreed wholeheartedly. "I'm not sure how I ever managed to land both of you, especially considering how difficult it is for me to even talk to people in social situations, but I'm truly grateful."

"I like your social awkwardness," Warren said, grin fading into a soft, sweet smile. "I did from the first time we met."

Simon looked up at him, eyebrows raised. "You can't be serious."

“You didn’t notice?” Warren chuckled. “I never got mad or annoyed or anything. Just laughed and pointed out the certain evils of your approach to my wing hygiene.”

"I still think your feather hygiene is dubious," Simon pointed out, but he was mostly teasing, even as he brushed his fingers over the arch of one wing.

“Pfft. You wouldn’t touch them if that was true.” Warren leaned in for a kiss. “And you looooove to touch them...”

Simon leaned in to return the kiss, a small smile on his lips as they parted. "That's because you love me touching them, and I love to feel the resulting sensation."

"Mmm-hmm," Warren's smile answered perfectly. "Not because you think they're sexy at all."

That deserved a look, because since when did Warren know what was on his mind? Maybe all those times he'd stood up naked, wings flared, and Simon had found himself momentarily paralyzed by arousal - so much so that his breath had literally become stuck in his lungs. "Maybe," he grudgingly agreed.

Warren, with all his typical vanity, had never doubted it. He just laughed and kissed Simon again, slowly, gently, with a sweet kind of heat reserved for after sex, generally speaking. When he wasn't dying for it, but just wanted to communicate... feelings. A lot of feelings. Good ones.

It was the kind of kiss that Simon could get lost in, and not just in the emotional sense. He would find himself following the various working systems of the body, learning the rhythms like one might learn a piece of music. It was beautiful to him, and meditative, and sometimes a little overwhelming in its entirety, but he loved it. He pushed his fingers through Warren's hair, returning the sentiment with a soft, audible sound.

It made Warren's heart flutter. "I'm so happy," he mumbled into Simon's lips. "That I get to spend the holidays like this." He'd never had a good one. "It's gonna be badass."

Simon paused at that, tilting his head slightly. "I should be packing," he realized. Warren had completely derailed his schedule.

Another, quicker kiss, and Warren said, "I'll help. With your eight-thousand sweaters."

Simon rolled his eyes. "You're such an ass."