About the Blog: I've started this blog with the intent to repost any OBM AO3 works for Tumblr folks. I'll also be posting some other shorter stuff that I'd consider too short to go on AO3.
About the Blog Owner: Hi!! it's me!! :) You can call me Z. I use they/them pronouns. I like snakes and birds. Happy to chat about the games as well, I'm all caught up on most canon material (except some IDO routes). I appreciate any and all feedback/interaction :)
Masterlist: I'll make one once I have a big enough catalogue that I feel warrants it.
“Human's been spotted,” Thirteen announced as soon as Barbatos let her into the hall, unzipping her Anti-Infection Igor Hood 2.4. "By at least three separate demons, so it should be legit."
"Oh, thank goodness!" Simeon exclaimed. "Where?"
She held up his D.D.D. for the rest of the vampire-hunting squad to see. “Skulking around the colosseum, apparently.”
“Great,” said Solomon without really paying attention to the screen, and turned around. “I’ll handle this one. You stay here in case any of those missing brothers turn up—”
Barbatos side-stepped in front of him and gave a delicate cough. “...if I may, I believe it’d be best if you didn't go alone.”
Solomon gave him a look. “Do we need to go over this again? We think the vampire virus might not infect humans, but we know that it does infect demons. ”
“You can hardly expect the Young Master and myself to stay locked up inside when the matter concerns the entire Devildom,” replied Barbatos calmly. “But this isn't about that. They won't be an easy target, as I am sure you will know.”
“Neither is Lucifer,” Solomon replied with a rather tetchy look. “But you sent them to wrangle him on their own just fine."
"Yes, and look where that got us," said Mephisto with a huff. "One human down and the virus might have mutated enough to infect them. Shouldn't the wise sorcerer himself understand what Barbatos is getting at?"
Solomon got it just fine. He just didn't agree.
“It’s not just about that,” Diavolo said. “We can’t afford to lose anyone. Apart from them, we still have at least four vampires to track down, and more if they infected anyone else.”
“Oh, I see,” said Solomon with offence. “You think I’d let them turn me. if they are infected.”
The awkward smile Diavolo gave him in reply told him everything. Simeon cleared his throat and called Luke away to help him with something. (Thirteen sniggered. Mephisto elbowed her, which only made her elbow him back. Raphael, hanging silently to the side, sighed as they began a small war.)
“...I can’t believe I’m saying this to you,” Solomon said when he was sure Luke was well out of ear-shot, “But I’m not that hor—”
“—how about a compromise?” Barbatos interrupted before Solomon could sully the ears of his precious Young Master. “We shall both go. I will make sure - personally - that you make your decisions with your head and not your… ahem.”
“My heart, of course.”
“Of course.”
"Hold on, now," interjected Thirteen. "How are we supposed to know if Barbie isn't compromised, too?"
"Oh, all of us are compromised in that respect," said Diavolo cheerfully. "But we still don't have any inkling of a cure. Most likely we'll have to quarantine them in the castle until we figure something out, or the infection clears on its own."
The others fell quiet for a while. Solomon could see each of them contemplating the notion, probably thinking sinful thoughts, though he felt rather smug in that he was only one who could probably act on them.
He refused to think too hard about what, exactly, your potential infection would mean for him. He was both extraordinary and biologically unusual and was at least half-convinced that he was special enough to still be immune anyway.
Then he realised that there was no hard confirmation that vampiritis could (or had mutated to be able to) infect angels or reapers, and that Thirteen and Raphael were exchanging a sly look. Damn!
The negotations lasted for almost the rest of the afternoon. In the end, the reaper and the seraph won. After some more lengthy arguing, Solomon managed to wrangle himself an invitation, though only after a substantial amount of arguing that came just short of lying on the floor and yelling like a child about it.
In the end, you weren't infected at all. The virus hadn't evolved, and the closest you'd come to getting turned was Lucifer being allowed 'a little treat' for being so placid while he was being wrangled.
(When Solomon's eyes narrowed, you shook your head and joked that there was no need to be jealous of that, because you'd just stuck a finger in his mouth and told him to treat it like a yogurt tube. You'd hoped it would make it un-sexy enough to stop Lucifer from getting any ideas, and to prevent this exact reaction from everyone else. Unfortunately, you underestimated both Solomon's shamelessness and Lucifer's... enigmatic mind.)
The vampire-hunting squad was back together, anyway. Lucifer was lead to a room in a quiet area of the castle to be quarantined (you did not miss the suggestive look he shot you as Luke attempted to threateningly march him away); Barbatos filled you in on what you'd missed, and plans began to track down the remaining vampires.
You felt rather proud of yourself for a job well done, though you understood that you'd rather worried the others.
"It's all fine, though," You said, sitting down for the strategy meeting. "Like we thought, it doesn't infect humans. Totally vampire-immune."
The reaction was instantaneous. Every head in the room immediately turned in your direction. Someone dropped something. Levi was the only one who didn't seem horrified, but even he looked a little concerned.
You looked back cluelessly. "What?"
"You're what?" asked Lucifer. His face was stern, but he was holding himself in trepidation.
It took you a moment to realise what had even come out of your mouth. You'd made a mess of your Spells homework and muttered it on reflex. "Oh. Uh, it's just a joke."
"It's not very funny," replied Satan.
"Sorry," You said a little awkwardly, then cleared your throat and tried to go back to working. "Won't happen again."
It didn't work. You could still feel all seven of them staring at you - simultaneously, looking at each other and mutually wondering what to say next. Eventually, you excused yourself and retreated to your room to keep working.
Belphie came knocking at your door that same evening, claiming that he couldn't sleep, and insisted that you come to bed early even though you still had things to work on. He wasn't a very good actor; even once you gave up and joined him, he kept looking up at your face from where he was nestled against your chest. When you finally looked back, raising your eyebrows, he muttered something about making sure you were still there, and pouted until you gave him a kiss.
The next morning, Lucifer made sure you ate, checked and double-checked that you had everything you needed for the day, and then kept you back for almost ten minutes under the pretense of making sure your uniform was 'presentable'. He set his hands on your shoulders and looked as if he might say something, but in the end he only trailed his hands down to your forearms and gave them a gentle squeeze. You didn't see him for the rest of the school day, but you felt as if he were watching you the whole way through.
Mammon glued himself to your side as soon as you got to class. He made his usual jokes and continued to glare at any lesser demon that got too close, but he was oddly attentive; when your pencil rolled off the desk, he caught it so quickly that he smacked against the table in the process. He seemed pleased when you pretended to fuss over his poor bruised hand, at least. He wasn't even as shy about demanding you kiss it better than usual.
At lunch, Beel stayed quiet as you chatted with Simeon and Raphael. Every now and then, he'd gently poke your arm. When you turned to him, he'd hold out a bit of his lunch - a piece of his sandwich, a cracker, a slice of fruit - and stared beseechingly until you ate it. Each time, he'd smile sweetly and pat you on the head. The angels stopped giving him odd looks after the fourth cracker.
You joined Levi to play some games after school. He didn't seem much different than usual at first, but in the loading screen between levels, he suddenly turned to you.
"Hey," He said, voice a little pitched with anxiety. "Please don't kill yourself."
You blinked, and then laughed. "I'm not going to. It's just a joke, like I said."
"I know that, but..." He averted his eyes. "...I dunno. Can you really say something like that without... meaning it just a little bit?"
You stared back at him for a moment. Then, suddenly discomfited, you turned back to the screen. "...I don't know. I don't think so."
"Can you promise?" He asked, barely audible. "Please?"
You reached across the bathtub and took his hand. It was a little clammy, but it didn't tremble nervously like it often did. It just closed tighter around yours. "...promise."
Later, you went to the library to try to finish your assignment again. Satan joined you so quickly that it felt as if he could have only been waiting. He sat across from you, ostensibly absorbed in his book, but looked up whenever he heard your pen stop scribbling. Eventually he stood up, rounded the table and joined you, explaining each part you didn't understand in a low, soothing voice. You managed to finish your work that same evening, his body pressing warmly against your side, like a particularly large cat.
And, of course, Asmo brought out the big guns. Before Belphie could take up his vigil in your bed, he barged into your room with a scroll of paper so long that it dragged onto the ground as he walked. He'd managed to compile it from his brothers and the rest of your friends in the last twenty-four hours and as a result much of its contents was nonsensical, but nonetheless he sat you down on the bed and read out each and every compliment, adding in dozens of his own, and peppering you with kisses in between until you were practically steaming with embarrassment and begging him to stop.
Some weeks later, you dropped a slice of cheesecake as you entered the common room and watched it smash into the carpet. You sighed. "I'm gonna—"
Seven heads turned in your direction.
"—blow this whole house up."
The brothers glanced at each other. There was a mutual shrug, an exasperated head-shake, several fond laughs. Progress was progress.
Summary: An angel walks into a gay bar and finds someone to go home with.
Tags: Simeon/M!Reader; Older Man/Younger Man (even though Simeon is technically not younger); referenced sex (non-explicit (fades to black)); One Night Stand turned Meet-Cute
Word Count: ~6k
AO3 Link: here
Note: Reeaally new to writing stuff like this lol. I was imagining a guy built like RE9 Leon but with more pudge while writing. Unedited.
You knew the new guy's type. Young and fresh-faced, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed - they came in with certain expectations, and you couldn't say they always left disappointed. You could usually pick out these newcomers in an instant, something about the way they scanned the bar and navigated the dance floor, but this one - anyone could have identified that he was out of place. Who came to a gay bar like the Tawny in a black button-up and white waistcoat?
He weaved in and out between the other patrons as if he wasn't quite sure where he was, or where he was going. You knew better than to completely fall for that lost-lamb look in his eyes, but you kept on eye on him throughout the night nevertheless. You often did, with these newbies - on who they danced with, what drinks they took, and what happened to those drinks. In the few years you've frequented this place, you've had to step in enough times to be cautious.
The young man didn't dance with anyone, nor did he buy any drinks from the bar. He just kept wandering, eyes combing through the crowd, until eventually it coincided with one of your cautionary sweeps, and the two of you made eye contact from across the dance floor.
You hadn't been expecting it, but you nodded easily. He smiled back, then melted into the crowd again, and you thought nothing more of it until he suddenly appeared at your side.
You raised an eyebrow. "Hey."
"Hello," He said, a little breathlessly. "Can I... buy you a drink?"
The words came out a touch awkwardly, as if he'd rehearsed them - or, perhaps, because he said it only because that was the sort of thing people said in gay bars. You smiled indulgently.
"I'm not here to party, I'm afraid." You nodded at the dance floor. "Just here to watch over you crazy kids."
He noticed the wording just as much as you had consciously chosen it, and you were a little alarmed to find that his demeanour did not seem dampened in the slightest. You were accustomed to receiving propositions or being approached by younger men who saw you watching from the shadows and let their imaginations run a little wild. You were also accustomed to curbing their expectations, and their rapid but fleeting disappointment, though they'd usually find a less reserved man in their preferred age range by the end of the night anyway.
You were not accustomed to seeing that almost amused glint in their eyes in response. The man cleared his throat delicately and offered a winning grin. "That's alright. Would you mind if I kept you company?"
Beginning to feel, inexplicably, like a hunted deer, you shrugged and nodded to the seat beside you. He perched himself in it and folded his hands neatly in his lap, still looking at you with bright eyes, and asked your name.
You gave it. He repeated it, voice low, glancing up at you through his lashes as if to gauge your reaction. You kept your face carefully neutral.
"Do you work here?"
"Not officially." You folded your arms. His gaze dropped briefly before quickly moving back up to your face. "Freddie calls me when he needs boxes moving. That's about it. I just like to keep an eye on things."
"That's very kind of you," He said earnestly. You were in the middle of thinking it was sweet when you caught his eyes sliding down again, and remembered what he was here for.
In hindsight, maybe this exact shirt and these exact pants weren't the best choice to wear on your pseudo-security guard outing. "...what's your name, kid?"
"I'm Simeon."
"Alright. How old are you, Simeon?"
At this he looked evasive, and for a moment you were seriously worried, even though he did at least look old enough to be here. Simeon seemed to think hard, and when he replied he didn't even look sure of the words coming out of his mouth. "Seventy... two?"
You laughed at that, unfolding your arms and leaning back on the counter. "Sure. If you're seventy-two, I'm at least a hundred n'forty. Either way, I reckon I'm a bit too old for you."
"No," He said confidently.
You stared at him for a moment. You'd had attempts at refutation, though more often they giggled and looked away, but you'd never had someone reply as if you were factually incorrect. "...no?"
"No," Simeon repeated, and leaned forward a little in his seat. "You aren't."
...okay. You were beginning to feel as if you were out of your depth here. Which was incredibly new, and you couldn't say you didn't find it interesting.
You'd never said you were immune to the beautiful young men who looked at you as if they saw all of their wildest fantasies coming true. Though it had been a long time since you'd indulged any of them. You were getting on in years, after all. You couldn't exactly go on the same adventures, if your back and knees had anything to say abouyt it.
After a moment, you shook your head and leaned over the counter to call Jem. Then you turned to Simeon and asked, "What's your drink?"
He looked terribly excited for a moment, though he visibly tried to tamp it down. You felt a little bad for what you were going to do next. "Oh! Um... you choose for me."
Jem sidled over. You leaned across the counter to whisper to them, "...just get the kid a cider."
They nodded automatically, eyes scanning over him, then whispered back, "Let him down gently, will you?"
Simeon was still watching you closely. When Jem slid his drink across the counter, he barely even looked at them as he said thank you.
"Nice to meet you, Simeon." You said, and got up from your seat. "Look, loosen up and find someone nice to dance with, alright? You've got plenty more options around here."
He didn't attempt to follow, but you felt his gaze on you all the way to the staff door before you shut it behind you. You tried not to dwell on him as you began to mindlessly shift crates, but those eyes were hard to forget. Were you crazy if you said you thought they'd been glowing under the dim club lights?
Eventually you accepted that there was no point in lugging boxes about back here any more, and that you were just trying to kill time now. When you peeked back out into the main room, Simeon had vacated his seat, and you thought it safe to quickly sidle through to the back door and take a break outside.
Some part of you was not surprised when Simeon followed you out shortly after. The young man was, if nothing else, persistent.
He kept his distance for the time being. He watched you rustle about in your pocket for a moment and then hold something out to him.
"A lollipop?" He asked in mild surprise.
You grunted. "...I quit smoking years ago. This is all I've got on me."
He accepted it with a charming smile. "Thank you."
It was a gesture of goodwill, yes, but also a test of how far he was willing to go. You hadn't been clueless to the way he'd adjusted himself in his seat, the way his posture against the counter had guided the eye. There were far more outrageous things he could do with that thing, but you were relieved (almost a little disappointed) when he only slipped it into his pocket. He wasn't completely without dignity - good. You were beginning to worry about how easily another man your age could take advantage of him.
"Most people would have given up by now, sweetheart," You said without thinking. Sweetheart, not kid. Simeon caught the change - you saw a tiny, satisfied grin curling at his mouth - and you resisted the urge to slap yourself. It meant that you were considering it.
"I did what you told me to," He said. "I tried to dance with some other people. But I just couldn't stop thinking about you."
It wasn't the first time you'd heard this line, but it was the first time it had sounded so sincere. Something in your chest gave a treacherous lurch.
Simeon took another hesitant step closer. "I'll leave if you want me to. But I'd really like a little more time with you."
Good grief. You sighed. "...do what you like."
He smiled then, soft and brilliant, and came to rest against the wall beside you. He wasn't as small as his wandering act in the bar had made him seem, with his arms pulled in close and head bent in an effort to fit himself through the gaps between dancers. Still at least two or so heads shorter than you, though; lithely built, like a figure skater, but probably still light enough for you to toss across the room with one hand. You might have joked about it if it were a different man, but you suspected it would only give him ideas. The part that worried you was that you weren't completely against that.
Simeon shifted a little closer, and you caught a few notes of something lightly floral. It was subtler than the usual crowd's taste, but the route was the same: you imagined that he'd spent at least a few hours beforehand scrubbing down, doing himself up, whatever it was that gave his skin that warm glow and made his eyes stand out so in the dark. You weren't much 'in' with what young men found glamorous these days, but you knew that you yourself felt rather out-of-place beside him. You hadn't shaved in a spell, and you were well-aware that you needed a haircut.
You were also well-aware that this was probably exactly why Simeon had approached you in the first place.
"You come from the campus?" You asked after a moment, sticking your own lollipop in your mouth. He looked about the age of the post-grads who frequented the bar on Thursday evenings.
"No, I'm new around here." He gestured somewhere to the east. "I own a coffee shop down that way - the Angel's Halo."
"That's you?" You hadn't been, but you'd heard about it. You'd heard about this owner, too. "Don't you have a son?"
"H— oh, no! That's my, um... little cousin." Just like when you'd asked him how old he was, even he didn't look sure of the words coming out of his mouth. "He stays with me sometimes, but he's back at home at the moment. It's been very quiet at the shop recently."
"So you thought you'd hit the streets," You surmised. "Your big night out?"
"Er, not quite yet." He smiled at you again. "But I'm hopeful."
Was this how people flirted these days? You'd not been out of the scene a while, but had the times changed that much? In your mind, it was still all flashing lights and smoke and a stranger's hands roaming - a mix of clandestine and bawdy, nights that you didn't quite remember, quick and desperate and sometimes heartbreaking. You weren't sure if the young man before you was a product of changing times or pure inexperience.
Simeon was still looking at you. No, you were sure - the man had no idea what he was doing, and yet you were also certain that he knew exactly what he was doing. In a split second, you made a decision that you wondered if you'd later regret.
"I want you to think about it," You warned him, pushing off from the wall. "You're still free to go back into the bar. Are you sure you want this?"
Simeon's response was to step forward defiantly and press himself almost close enough to touch. "Surer than I have been of anything in my life."
You walked him back to your place. Halfway there, when he slipped his hand into yours, you didn't drop it. It was already a bad sign, the fact that you were treating this stroll like a date and not a means to an end.
Part of you had hoped the cold night air would knock some sense into him, and were prepared to call him a cab by the time you got to your door, but if anything he seemed even more eager. You paused to remind him that he could still tap out before you stepped over the threshold, and you thought you heard him actually whimper at the very idea. There wasn't much you could do but pull him inside after that.
Simeon scarcely waited for you to shut the door again. You felt his hand trail experimentally down your back while you were still turned to lock the door. He looked back up just in time to meet your eye when you glanced back, and only gave you a winning smile, like a cat who has got the cream.
Maybe it was the deceptive innocence of the expression, but you genuinely weren't expecting anything when you turned around. Simeon only barely gave you enough room to even make the movement before smoothly putting himself in place, one foot just shy of stepping between your legs, one hand grasping at your shirt buttons and the other just barely brushing against your lower arm.
"I don't think you're taking me seriously," He murmured.
You raised an eyebrow at him in an attempt at cool, though you could tell by his clever eyes that he knew his little manoeuvre had been successful. "I've brought you home, haven't I?"
"You've been trying to send me home since the bar," He said pointedly, and leaned up, close enough that you could dip down and meet him without effort. "I'll leave if you really want me to. But if you're going to let me stay, you should stop holding back."
"Simeon..."
His hand closed in earnest on the front of your shirt. "Well?"
The two of you stared at each other for a moment, his expression challenging and yours unreadable. You could tell that his posture was beginning to falter - it was probably a fair stretch for him. It was cute, the way he was attempting to reach your level; the fire in his eyes and the faint confidence with which he smiled at you.
You'd gotten this far. If this was how he wanted to play, then you owed it to him to deliver. If he was under the impression that he could wind you around his finger, he really didn't know what he'd gotten himself into. Once again, though, you got the impression that he was placing himself exactly where he wanted to be.
You were taking a little too long to respond. Simeon shifted a little. "Are you— mm!"
You'd intended on starting slow, honestly, but then he looped his arms around your neck and practically yanked you close, and all bets were off from there. He kissed like he was trying to draw you into him entirely, a little messy, as if he didn't know what he was doing, really, just that he wanted more.
When you broke away for a moment, he followed with another of those almost-whimpers of dismay; you laughed a little and picked him up easily. He was startled only for a moment before taking full advantage of his new perch and its easy access to your neck. He seemed quite giddy, and you weren't even sure if the little noises he was making in your ear were deliberate. Either way, they were working.
You hadn't been expecting company when you made the bed this morning. Simeon didn't seem to mind, only giggling a little dizzily when you finally dropped and pinned him to the mattress.
"Who wears a tie to the bar?" You muttered, yanking it from his waistcoat and beginning to clumsily undo the knot. Simeon made a slightly strangled noise beneath you, though you were sure you hadn't pulled it that tight. "Who taught you to do that?"
"I just... thought it looked nice." He fumbled with his own buttons, though his eyes were so focused on your hands that he kept missing them. "Aren't you going to kiss me again?"
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" The tie finally came apart. You considered it for a moment, then tossed it over the bed-frame. It could come in handy later. "Patience, sweetheart. We've got plenty of time."
"I want it now," He insisted, and abruptly pulled on your shirt with such force that you almost collapsed entirely onto him. You caught yourself on your elbows just in time with a grunt, and caught him grinning wickedly beneath your chest.
"I'm going to crush you if you aren't careful," You mumbled, your sense of responsibility kicking in for just a moment once more.
Simeon's eyes gleamed. "I told you not to hold back. Are you going to take your shirt off?"
He sure was frank, wasn't he? You wondered if he even knew what dirty talk was. "What did I just say? Patience. If you can't behave, then we'll stop now."
He stopped pulling at your shirt almost immediately, though his mouth pulled into a little pout. You held back a groan. This man was going to be the death of you, wasn't he?
You'd give him something, at least. You kissed him again, this time careful not to let him wrest too much control. It made his desperation even more obvious, the way he pushed and pulled restlessly against you. You could probably toss him about in this bed with ease, the way he fits in your hands, but he makes such an effort to fit into your negative spaces that it'd be a shame to push him out.
You used to have a routine for this - a certain record on the player, a specific sheet thrown over the usual sleeping ones. You're not sure where either of those things are. You'd forgotten how fun the spontaneity was, the thrill of being wanted. When you finally released him, Simeon fell back against the bed with a faintly blissful look, staring up at you adoringly, as if you were the first and last thing he had ever seen. It was the sort of feeling a man could quickly get drunk on.
He'd discarded his waistcoat at some point, but he was still half-tangled in his own shirt. He'd made an attempt at taking off his belt and only managed to fasten the buckle through a different hole, and you weren't quite able to a disguise a tiny chuckle at the sight.
"Don't laugh at me," He said a little breathlessly, though the effect of his small glare was greatly lessened by the general... everything else about his demeanour. "I've never done this before."
You weren't surprised by this, but it made you feel a certain way nevertheless. You did laugh properly this time (you surprised even yourself with how rich the sound was), and pulled back a little further to help him properly. He froze completely at that, but you were careful to keep your hands to the belt alone, and when you leaned back to toss the belt aside he was pouting again.
"What are you looking at me like that for, sweetheart?" You stood up now, conscious of the direction of his stare and the heat at the pit of your stomach. "You want it that bad?"
He opened his mouth to reply, then snapped it shut again when you stepped back and began undoing your own buttons. You weren't well used to putting on a show, but he followed each movement so closely that you couldn't help but slow down, just for him.
"First things first," You said as you popped the last button, then turned to open the wardrobe "Got a safeword?"
There was a moment of silence. You turned to find Simeon still staring at you, clearly not listening. He blinked, then smiled. "Sorry?"
"...we'll figure it out," You decided, tossing a bottle to him. He sat up to catch it, blinking. "You know what to do with that?"
"I think so," He said excitedly. "You'll let me—?"
"I'm figuring out what to do with you first," You interrupted, closing the wardrobe again with a pillow in hand. Lucky you'd found it. It'd be better for his back than the bricks on your bed. "Reckon we've still got a lot to learn."
"I'm a fast learner." He reached out for you as you approached the bed again. You sighed a little, but tossed the pillow aside and allowed him to sink into your arms.
"I'm sure you are, sweetheart." He twisted to look up at you, and you offered him a wicked grin of your own. "Let's see if an old dog can't teach any new tricks."
You woke first with your mind made up. You'd given the young man what he wanted, made him Ganymede for the night, but you were no Zeus in need of a cup-bearer. He might have his standards set a little high from now on, but he could make his way out of your life again as quickly as he came into. Maybe he'd even fool around with someone his own age.
Simeon was nestled with his cheek pressed to your sternum, curled against your chest as if he was determined to keep as much of himself in contact with you as possible, and still soundly asleep. You weren't much surprised. He'd had an exciting night.
He murmured a little as you slowly extracted yourself, but rolled over and soon went back to snoring lightly. You stood and watched him for a moment. The curtains weren't completely closed, and the sunlight that managed to peek in dappled his bare shoulders as if he were lying in a painting.
You'd made the quip in light humour the night before, but you really did feel like an old grey dog in comparison. He was supposed to be exploring avenues with other similarly beautiful, glamorous young men, not hooking up with some grizzled has-been from a bar.
No point in dwelling on it. You were already forming a script in your head. You'd have to be gentle about it, and take care not to make him think it was because he'd been terrible in bed. (It would not be true even if you did.)
He'd probably want a shower once he woke up, too. You'd made an effort at cleaning up before sleep - carried him a little awkwardly to the tub and attempted to hose him down all while he was still clinging and trailing clumsy kisses down from your cheek to your sternum - but it was hardly thorough. You made a note to set out some fresh towels and check that all the bottles were in obvious places after you'd freshened up yourself.
Simeon was stirring a little when you stepped out of the bathroom, shifting in bed as if looking for you. You hesitated at first, but bent over the bed and stroked his hair for a moment. He settled quickly after that. You left a note about the shower and quickly adjourned to the kitchen.
You attempted to repeat the speech you were constructing in your head, as if it would solidify its convictions. The convictions were, perhaps, tested a little when you found yourself preparing breakfast - but you had courtesy, and it seemed only right that you at least provide some hot food for someone after fucking their brains out. You'd done it for one-night-stands before. Nothing special.
Simeon emerged while you were flipping pancakes. You glanced over out of the corner of your eye, then immediately looked back at the pan. In a moment of terrible weakness, when you'd set out his clothes from last night for him, you'd also left one of your own shirts hanging from the wardrobe door - just supposing he might choose it. And he had. It looked better on him than it had on you at anything you'd ever worn it to.
"Morning," You said, hoping the words didn't come out clipped. "Tea or coffee?"
"How about I make us both coffee?" He asked, and did exactly what you were afraid he'd do - came to join you at the counter, as if this were a domestic scene. "I'm quite good at it."
You offered a slightly nervous laugh. "I don't have any fancy equipment, I'm afraid. Just the instant stuff and a kettle."
"I'm sure I'll figure something out," He said, and leaned up to kiss you on the cheek.
You kept your eyes on the pancakes and were very, very careful not to react as he padded away to investigate your cupboards. The sound of his footsteps were a little unsteady, as if he was limping. You set aside two mugs and tried not to dwell on it.
There was fairly little conversation while the two of you had breakfast. Simeon managed to turn your cheap corner shop coffee grounds into something that almost could have from from a cafe, and he seemed delighted by the pancakes. You tried not to preen too much, though it was true you prided yourself on their fluffiness.
"I wanted to ask," He said. "About your mug..."
"Huh?" You looked down at it. You'd stopped noticing what it looked like months ago, but now that you thought about it the robot animal pictures were a little unusual. "Oh, this? Present from my students."
"You teach?"
"High school English. Shakespeare and poetry, that kind of thing." You spun the mug around and pointed to the bear in the centre. "Nothing to do with these critters. They just told me I look like him."
He giggled. "I can't say I see the resemblance."
"Never know what's going through their heads," You mumbled, unable to keep a note of fondness out of your voice. "What about you? How's the coffee shop?"
"Oh! Alright, I think. A little quiet at the moment, but staying afloat." He glanced over at your plate. "You've barely eaten anything. Here."
"I can take care of my—" You began, but he was already spearing a small stack on his fork, and soon leaned insistently towards you to offer it. "—honestly. Alright, fine, have it your way."
Simeon gave you a sweet smile as he withdrew the empty fork, then reached across the table to brush a crumb from the corner of your mouth. You let him feed you three more bites before gently pushing the fork back to him, and tried not to react to the look he gave you as he put it in his own mouth.
When you stood to look out the window, he followed you. Clutching his mug, still wearing your shirt. He looked as if he belonged on the cover of some magazine advertising chic home decor, or a shot straight out of a film. You almost felt the need to say something sexy just to fit the scene.
"Think the bird feeder needs refilling," You commented in an effort to fill the silence, which definitely wasn't that. "The squirrels have been at it again."
There was a single goldfinch pecking at what remained of the seeds at the bottom, with a blue tit watching it closely from a nearby branch. You watched them in silence. Simeon rather unsubtly stared at your face instead.
"...how are you feeling?" You asked finally, mentally running through your script again. It'd probably be best to let him down sooner rather than later.
"Hmm. A little sore."
"I'm not surprised." You caught the coy look he threw you, and tried not to react. "Do you need me to call you a cab?"
Simeon blinked. "...am I leaving?"
"You don't have to go straight away," You assured, turning away from the window again. "Once you've finished your pancakes, whatever. Just when you're ready."
"Oh." He was quiet for a moment. "No, I can walk back. Um, then... could I have your... phone number?"
You took in a breath. Here goes. "...listen, Simeon. It's probably best if you just go after this, alright?"
"Why?" He asked softly, and you looked away immediately. Those big eyes were dynamite. "Was I bad?"
"That's not it." You hesitated, then reached across the counter and patted his hand gently.
"I'm not a guy you want to settle for, alright? You should find someone closer to your age."
"...I thought I told you to take me seriously."
"I took you seriously all night, didn't I?"
Simeon still looked bitterly disappointed. "But I like you. You don't like me?"
"I like you plenty, sweetheart. But that doesn't mean I ought to keep you to myself."
"What if I want you to?" He asked, now suddenly determined - like he had been when he came after you last night. "What if I'm absolutely, completely certain? Are you still going to kick me out?"
"I'm not kicking you out—"
"It feels like you are. You're just telling yourself that it's something kinder, but there's nothing I need protecting from here." Simeon's hands caught yours before you could pull away, and he looked dangerously close to doing something... drastic with them.
You tried to pick up where your knows-better speech had cut off, but in the end you could only mutter a little pathetically, "I told you - I'm a little too old for you, you know?"
"And I told you no, you're not," He asserted. You released a short sigh, and knew immediately that he sensed victory. His mouth curled into a smile. "So I'll see you again, won't I?"
You knew when you'd been defeated. "...sure, sweetheart."
You let him stay around for another few hours. He finished his pancakes; you put on the TV and switched the channel to Bake-Off and watched him watch the bakers work with rapt attention. When there was a lull in the frantic whisking and measuring, he crawled over to your half of the sofa and wormed his way into your arms, and you let him.
Eventually he was convinced to get properly dressed in his own clothes, and you pretended not to notice him surreptitiously testing whether or not he could fit your shirt into his pocket. (He could not. You worried a little about his conceptual understanding of space.) You offered to walk him home, and were stepping out onto the landing when a very old, very round tabby cat came trotting up the stairs.
"Oh!" Simeon sounded delighted. He bent to pet her immediately. "I didn't know you had a cat."
"My landlady has a cat," You corrected. "This is Lucy. She lives downstairs."
He giggled a little at that, though you weren't sure why. "Hello, Lucy."
He rubbed her head with a smile, then suddenly froze. For a moment you watched about a million thoughts fly through his head, and then he turned to look up at you with thinly veiled panic. "Um— your landlady lives downstairs?"
"Yes?" You tilted your head him, confused, then realised what he was worried about. He'd been awfully vocal last night, after all. "...oh, don't worry about that. Edie's deaf as a post. She's dead asleep by that time, anyway."
"Is that so?" He looked relieved. "...well, I think it's time for us to head out."
"I think it is." You stepped aside to let her wander past you with a meow. "See you later, Miss Lucy."
Simeon giggled again. You still weren't sure why, but chose not to question it. You offered him your arm once you'd stepped out onto the street, and he took it with a laugh.
"What a gentleman," He said with a mischievous little smile.
"You did what?!" Asmo shrieked.
Lucifer looked as if he had a migraine. "...please tell me you're joking."
Simeon simply smiled serenely in reply. Asmo shrieked again and practically tumbled out of his seat, hands covering his face and positively kicking with glee. Lucifer pinched his nose and looked as if he was mentally counting to ten.
"Well?!" Asmo demanded once he'd gathered himself, slamming his hands on the table, flushed with excitement. "You can't just drop that! How was it?!"
"Do not answer that," Lucifer said sharply, then rose from his seat. "I'm going to check the store room."
He made a quick exit. Raphael, coming out of cleaning cupboard, paused as Lucifer practically shoved past him, almost knocking the dustpan out of his hands.
"What's going on?" He asked, approaching the table. "Why does Lucifer look like that?"
"I went to a gay bar," Simeon said proudly.
This time Raphael did drop the dustpan. The sound of it clattering to the ground was the only sound in the whole shop for a moment, apart from the high-pitched noise Asmo was making under his breath.
"You what?" He asked faintly.
"The one Asmo was talking about," Simeon explained. "I met someone there. Someone nice."
"Did you go home with him?" Asmo asked, voice high with anticipation.
"Yes."
Asmo shrieked for the third time, and this time Raphael gathered himself enough to smack him with the brush he was still clutching in his other hand.
"Keep it down, you maniac!" He slammed his hands on the table, staring at Simeon as if willing him to drop the other shoe. "You can't be serious."
"I'm as serious as can be," He said, now feeling a little offended, and went back to sorting out the pastry case. "And, for your information—"
"I can't stress enough how little I want the details," Raphael interrupted, stooped to pick up his dustpan, and promptly retreated to the other side of the shop.
Asmo, meanwhile, followed Simeon, eyes practically sparkling. "I do, though! Come on, hon, you can't just drop that on me!"
"It was good," was all Simeon offered, giving him an almost smug grin. "That's all I can tell you, to be honest. It's all a blur."
"You look like it was good," said Asmo admiringly. "Did you stay over?"
"I didn't have many other options," He recalled, giving the espresso machine a perfunctory polish. "We were up for most of the night. At least, I think so. I was a little out of it by the end."
(Lucifer, warily peeking out of the store cupboard, heard this and immediately retreated back inside. Raphael swept invisible crumbs into his pan and wished fervently for Father to strike him deaf some time in the next few minutes.)
Simeon waved off any more questions for the time being; it was getting close to opening time. Soon enough both Lucifer and Raphael returned to normal - though exchanging troubled looks with each other. He thanked the other three for helping him open and set them up with some drinks and pastries for the troubles, then took up his place at the front counter, humming a cheerful melody under his breath.
Raphael approached him a few minutes later, eyes darting to check that the coast was clear. "...Simeon. Are you sure that was a good idea?"
He shot him a look. "You sound like Lucifer."
"I'm serious."
"Well, I'm human for the time being, aren't I?" Simeon asked, and at this his friend fell quiet. "I might as well enjoy the experience."
Raphael didn't seem to have a response that he thought would go over well. He pursed his lips and drifted back to his seat, and Simeon went back to gazing at the clouds through the window.
He served a few take-away cups to various students, the spare harried businessman, but it was a slow morning, and he was quite grateful to have three friends to chat with while he waited for customers. They joined him at the front counter when it became apparent that the cafe wasn't going to fill any time soon (though Lucifer only sat down once he'd ascertained he wasn't going to hear any more about Simeon's recent adventures.)
Simeon was so absorbed in conversation that he almost didn't notice - but, inexplicably, his eyes rose just in time to snag a particular silhouette passing by on the street outside. Evidently he reacted visibly, too, because next moment all three of the others had turned around to see.
Raphael and Lucifer exchanged another look. Asmo's mouth physically fell open.
You pushed open the door to the Angel's Halo and immediately found yourself pinned with three sets of piercing stares. You stopped just beyond the door and grimaced a little. "...wrong place?"
"No, no!" came a voice from behind them, and Simeon quickly sidled to greet you. "Come in! I'm glad you came."
"Thought it'd be nice to get a drink before I went in," You said by way of explanation as you approached the counter. "I'll need all the energy I can get to deal with the little monsters today."
"I have just the thing for you," He said with a wink. "Take a seat."
You set your backpack down and did as he said, offering the others a small, polite smile. Simeon bustled about with the machines, periodically glancing over his shoulder. You looked different this morning - in a good way.
You'd shaved since he last saw you, dressed in a striped shirt and jumper that made you look quite homely (almost cuddly) compared to the clothes you'd been wearing at the bar. He chanced a glance at his friends. Asmo was almost green with envy.
"How long can you stay?" He called over his shoulder. When he turned around with a clean cup in hand, you were flicking through a tiny pocket notebook with a pair of reading glasses perched on your nose. He almost dropped the cup in response.
"I can give you twenty." You scanned over something in your notebook before glancing up to meet his eyes. "Got to get in a little early to set things up. We're starting sonnets."
"Sonnets?"
"The most famous one," You said, and affected a voice of some theatricality. "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May..."
You recited it in full while Simeon made your coffee, not thinking much of it until he turned around to meet your gaze, and you found the eye contact rather more heated than expected. Sonnet 18 in its entirety had been a small party trick of yours since your youth, when your friends would cheer and make fun of you in equal measure for memorising any length of poem, and their egging had only encouraged you to perform it more and more heartfelt over the years. Somehow you'd quite managed to forgotten what, exactly, it contained.
"...well," You muttered after a moment. "That's the gist of it, anyway."
Simeon slid your drink across the table, and you quickly pretended to be occupied by it, thanking him lowly and almost not noticing the sweet heart he'd drawn on top. The coffee shop was quiet for a moment. You could feel his three friends staring at you again.
You took a sip of your coffee and pretended not to have accidentally scalded the roof of your mouth. Why, exactly, did you feel so hunted, all of a sudden...?
