Updated: Jun 30
Here it is, story 2! This "Hot Man" was submitted by our friend Artsy Ape! This is the second out of three I was sent so we still have one more story to come (at least).
My muse decided he was a Simon and went from there. Also, turns out Simon is good friends with Darius. Who knew?
I also had to look up "Shane." I could see him in my head clearly. I dug through the internet to find something close. I put some pics within the story of what he might look like.
I hope you enjoy this one. If so, leave me a like or a comment. Some have asked me what my plan with Wyatt and Darius is. Originally, there wasn't one but I have a few stories here. I think it would be cool to explore the backstory that came out of Simon and Shane. Darius wants to share all about Wyatt. Then there is story three to come which will also tie into the universe that sprouted.
Like I said, I'd really like to have some free content here for you all to read. Maybe this can be that content. I'm happy to continue any of these! I'd even put them in a downloadable PDF if you want.
Reminder, these are unedited, raw works.
Standing Still With You
Simon and Shane (1/1)
In hindsight, slamming the door was not the way to gain Shane’s attention. He hates that. I’m normally not prone to those kinds of behaviors—that’s more Darius’s thing—but I was frustrated. I know I’ll pay for that later, but I don’t care right now and continue to the park.
It’s hot. It’s summer. My shirt is gross and sweat-soaked—I shouldn’t have left the air-conditioned house—and I wish I had water, but I keep walking. It’s still early evening. Plenty of light left. My phone dings and my heart rate speeds up. I think it’s going to be Shane demanding (hoping he’ll demand) I come straight home, but it’s not.
Darius: This guy’s haircut is seriously nerve-wrecking. I bet he gets the hairdresser to use a ruler.
He’s been texting me all night. Only Darius would take it upon himself to sleep with the ornery man at the bar. Darius is one of the most attractive men I know, all he’s got to do is bat an eyelash and men go to bed with him. It’s too easy. He needs a challenge.
Me: Be careful Dar. Don’t end up buried in a box underground.
Darius: Is Shane monitoring your Hannibal watch time? Because that only happens on TV.
I roll my eyes at my phone and shove it back in my pocket. I don’t think I’m nearly done hearing from him, I’ll be hearing from him all night, but I need to think. Darius is not one to let you think in peace.
I make it to the park and sit under a tree, my back against the rough bark. I remove my glasses and clean them on my shirt and then set them back on my nose. I watch the children running, the teens hanging, the adults playing that weird frisbee game I don’t get. My phone vibrates again and it’s probably Darius but I check it just in case it’s Shane. It’s neither. It’s Darius’s younger brother.
Oliver: Darius forgot to pick me up. He’s not answering his phone.
Fucking Darius. He’s actually a good big brother, but when he’s upset he does stupid things. I know he would have seen the texts from Oliver and then ignored them out of guilt for not being there in the first place. I’m not saying it makes sense, but it’s how Darius operates.
This means I’m going to have to get Oliver.
No one should have to get him. He’s an adult but no one treats him that way. It’s - well it’s complicated.
I don’t go get Oliver though. I sit and stew with my own problems. I do send him a text telling him to hang tight and that someone will get him soon. I think about texting Silas. Darius would kill me.
Finally, Shane texts me.
Shane: Get home. Now.
Shane: I’ll come get you. Don’t make me come get you.
The shiver that runs through me. It’s what I was looking for but maybe I took it too far?
“No such thing as too far,” Darius would say. Has said.
Shane and I have different agreements though, than the ones Darius tries to get into with the Tops and Doms he pairs himself with. I can’t wait to see what’ll happen to him when he meets someone immovable. I think he wants it though. Craves it. I think he can’t wait until a brick wall tells him ‘no’ and won’t budge.
I get another text from Darius.
Darius: You need to feed Octavious. I’m staying here.
Me: Here? Where’s here?
He doesn’t answer.
Jesus Christ, Darius. Now I’m looking after his brother and his damn bird? That thing always bites me. The only one he doesn’t bite is Darius. Well not anymore. I remember when he bought the thing in college. Maybe I’ll bring Kia and let her eat it.
Scratch that. Octavious would probably manage to eat Kia.
I’m cursing the day I met Darius—if he wasn’t my childhood friend, I would have axed him by now—and finally, seriously thinking about going to pick up Oliver when the world’s happiest husky bounds over to me. I fall to the ground, letting her lick my face, nearly knocking my glasses off my nose. I laugh sitting up, feeling better.
I sense his presence before I see him. Shane’s massive energy always permeates everything. His long black hair is down, bone-straight, parted in the middle. He’s wearing the green shirt, the one I like best on him, with relaxed blue jeans. His coppery skin looks smooth as butter and like always, I can’t wait to run my fingers across it.
I’m surprised he’s wearing flip flops—they hurt his feet—and he’s massive, towering above me like he is. Shane’s face is always stone—he’s like Silas that way—you only get to see his soft side if you’re close to him, and so his almond eyes are ridged sentinels on either side of his nose. “You done with the tantrum?”
I frown. “I wasn’t having a tantrum.”
“What do you call slamming the door?”
Okay, maybe a bit. “We have to get Oliver.”
“If Darius forgot him again, I’ll tan his pretty hide.”
He probably needs it. “Yeah. He forgot.”
Shane sighs. “All right. Let’s go. Don’t think I’ll forget about dealing with you.”
“Why would I ever forget that?”
I let him pull me up. I’m a medium height whereas Shane’s taller than Darius (who’s six feet). He plasters me to him and I cling as he inhales my scent. “Little bird. You can’t take off like that. I knew you’d likely come here but there’s always the chance you’ll go somewhere else. Have mercy on a guy and text me your location.”
We walk home hand-in-hand, and I already feel better. Kia races ahead of us off leash. Everyone in the neighborhood knows her and she’s well-behaved. Shane has her leash in his fist. No one will know her in the new neighborhood. We’ll probably have to bring her on a leash everywhere.
Kia jumps into the backseat of Shane’s truck as I climb into the front. “What happened to Oliver was awful, but it was three years ago. People have to let him do adult things sometime.”
“Tell Darius and Silas that.”
He has. No one listens.
It’s a forty-minute drive to Oliver’s ballet company. He’s a thinner version of Darius which is a feat—Darius is a wisp of a thing—and he’s in tights with a large grey sweatshirt over top. He’s all muscle though. Stringy striations popping through, lacing up his limbs. Even though he’s younger than Dar, his face is older looking, with some gruff—he likes to keep his five o’clock shadow. Darius has the baby face of all baby faces—like I have. We got ID’d all through our twenties. Not that alcohol’s ever been a problem for us. Silas always had it around. He didn’t care how much we took.
When Oliver sees the black Dodge Ram, he’s quick to grab his bag and run for the truck, his tuffet of blond hair trying to flop all over the place but it’s stuck with gel. “Sorry, Oli,” I say as Shane pulls out of the parking lot.
Oliver nuzzles noses with Kia as he does up his seatbelt. “Fucking Darius. I should rat him out to Silas.”
I’m not worried that he will. We all need to say stuff like that sometimes—Darius gets on everyone’s nerves at some point in the day. It’s a wonder we love him so much with how much trouble he is.
“I’ll take care of Darius,” Shane says. “How did it go?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Oliver says, more anger seeping into his expression.
I give it a shot anyway. “You’ve been waiting to work with Julius for—”
“—don’t speak of him. I could tear that man’s eyes out. He’s pompous. Anal. And he thinks the dancing world revolves around him. Honestly? He’s not that good.”
Whoa, okay. That’s not what he’s been saying all week. According to him the man could dance on water. Maybe this was a case of, ‘don’t meet your heroes.’
“Thanks for coming to get me. I hope Silas will finally let me drive this year.”
I wince. Not likely. “Why don’t you try for the Uber thing again?”
“Yeah. Maybe.” He’s quiet after that and I’m glad he has Kia to snuggle.
Shane is quiet too.
Once we’ve dropped Oli off and get home, Shane gives me that look. That look. The one where his eyes deepen, almost hurt, kinda mad and a whole lotta force barreling down at me.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” I start. I rub the back of my neck.
“You wanna explain why you stormed out of here?”
I wish I knew myself. It was suddenly too much. It’s my hesitation that does it. Shane extends his hand. “No. No. I don’t need … Shane!”
“Come here.” He sits on the soft sofa, his large body sinking low, as he pulls me with him. He undoes the button of my jeans as I pout at him. I wish I could go back in time and not slam the door. That’s what did this, isn’t it? “You’ve got something to work out,” he says. His wise, deep eyes study me.
Yeah. Yeah, okay fine.
My jeans and boxers are pulled down together. He guides me, bare ass up, over his lap and I sulk into the couch cushions. Yeah, I probably do need this. I hate that I do. He rubs over my ass like he’s trying to warm it up.
“Any thoughts come to mind yet?”
“I see.” He starts in.
The two worst parts of a spanking are the beginning and the end. Those are the two points in time it hurts the most.
At the beginning, it’s the shock of it that stings. Somehow, you’ve forgotten how much it actually hurts since you were last spanked. I’m considered a seasoned spankee by this point. Shane and I have been together for years—plus when we were kids—we’re old hat at this.
When you get to the middle of a spanking, it hasn’t stopped hurting, your ass has just grown accustomed. It gets hard with swelling offering mild protection. That protection wanes and it usually marks the final portion of the spanking. Not that there’s any said amount of time a spanking takes place but there’s only so much one ass can handle—some more than others if you’re Darius—and the spanker gauges this. It usually coincides with when they pick up the pace, or change the tempo, or increase the intensity.
I’m at the beginning and it’s taking forever to get past this point today. Some spankings are just like that. “Shaaaaane,” I whine.
“You’re not getting up until you talk. I can go all night. Also, don’t slam doors.”
I knew that counted for something.
He pauses, giving me time to confess. “I—” The words won’t come. “Not ready yet.” And I groan because I know what that means. So be it.
Tightening his grip around my waist, pulling me further toward him, he continues. This time the smacks are singular, across both cheeks at once, only a half of a heartbeat of pause between each. I clench my eyes shut and let the spanks reverberate through me. My back arches. My feet kick.
Shane’s got confidence and strength and firmness—it all melds together for a solid spanking. When he pauses this time, he rubs a circle with his wide hand, his rough callouses scratching the tender skin. “Got something for me?”
“I got something,” I say, breath heaving. It feels like I’ve run ten miles, dipped myself in cold water and run back. It feels good. “I don’t want to move.”
He’s quiet and then, “I thought it might be something like that.”
I should have just told him, talked to him about it. He always knows what to say, how to make me feel better.
How to get me to feeling better—either way I was going to end up over his knee.
It’s just – it’s complicated (there's lots of complicated around here). We became us in this house. It holds special magic.
We were the unloved. The orphaned. The discarded. We ended up in the same foster care home—me, Shane and Darius. I’d just lost my parents and Shane’s were absent. Darius’s situation was a fucking nightmare. Our foster situation wasn’t the best. Wasn’t as bad as it could have been either. This house was where we moved after—me and Shane. Darius was back home with his brothers long before we moved here. Not that he spends much time in his family home since we moved here. He insisted on his own room. Though it mostly just holds some of his stuff. He usually sleeps with us when he’s here.
There are too many memories here. I don’t want to leave it.
He pulls me to stand. Now I have to face him. “I know nothing can be done about it. I’m being fucking irrational Shane.”
I also know that’s the truth—our new place will be better. It’ll really be ours. After that, we’ll only have to move if we want to, rather than being evicted because they want to build a strip mall on this street.
Sometimes when I look at Shane, he’s the fifteen-year-old boy I met with the bruised face and haunted eyes.
We found a bird with a broken wing. Darius said we should kill it and put it out of its misery (it’s fucking irony that he spent what he did to keep his parrot alive years later). Shane said it could be healed. I was thirteen. I didn’t know which one to believe. Didn’t matter. Shane was always Shane—he wouldn’t let Darius near it. Or anyone else for that matter.
Shane’s confidence that he could fix the bird fueled me with hope.
People think Shane’s taciturn now. They should have known him then. He didn’t say a lot but when he spoke it was heavy and with purpose. “This bird has life it in still. We will help him fly again.”
But his face.
It’s a mask for pain. It’s so you don’t have to worry about him because he’s worrying about you. No one but us (us three) would pick up on it. Well and maybe Asher. If he were still around.
He helps with my clothes. “I’m not sure that was enough. We’ll see before bed.”
“Isn’t it before bed now?” I ask.
It’s gotten late.
He runs a hand through his long, black hair. His eyes are too far away—he’s searching for an answer that isn’t there. “You know we’ll make new memories,” he says.
“I know. I just wish they weren’t destroying this place.”
“They’re not destroyin’ us,” he says and wraps his arms around the small of my back. He’s still seated on the couch, I’m standing above him. I kiss the top of his head. Emotions swirl around us, like everything we’ve been through, every painful thing, every joyous thing, is in this room with us, influencing us—trapping us.
“I know.” I tear up. “But Shane, what if I forget?”
In the mornings I come down to the kitchen and sit at the table in my seat, the one I always sit in and look out the window from the same angle. It brings me a feeling. It’s happy and content. It’s peaceful. But it’s only in that spot. When someone’s stopped by in the morning, and I’ve had to sit in Shane’s chair, it’s not quite the same. Unless I’m in Shane’s lap.
“You won’t forget, Little Bird. I’ll make sure.” He says it with the confidence I need. I relax some but not all the way. I know once we’re there, in the new place, I’ll be okay. We’re not there though and I can’t shake the nostalgia.
“No more slamming doors and stomping around and running off.”
I rub my ass. “Not after that. Jeez Shane.”
He doesn’t feel sorry for me.
“C’mon. Let’s get ready for bed. Where is Darius?” Shane worries about him too. He worries about everyone.
I wince. “I don’t know? He met a guy in a bar—his place maybe?”
Shane has the darkest eyes. They match his black hair. When he’s cross at you, somehow they manage to darken further, like now. Thankfully his ire’s not directed at me. “Where’s your phone?”
I fish it out of my pocket. He knows the code. I watch as he types a message and presses send. When I take the phone back, I read it.
If you make me worry about you all night you’ll be sorry.
He didn’t sign it ‘Shane,’ but there will be no doubt who it’s from.
“C’mon,” he says taking my hand.
He tugs me to our bedroom. We haven’t started packing yet, that’s next week. Then it’s just a matter of days. We won’t be in this room. Too soon we’ll be looking out a different window. The sun will shine on us at a different angle. If at all. I tried to get Shane to take me to the house in the morning when we could see if the sun hit at the right time. He caters to a lot of my idiosyncrasies but that wasn’t happening. “We can’t knock on someone’s door at the crack of dawn … Realtors don’t work at six am …”
Yeah, he was right, but I need to know.
“Are you thinkin’ about the sun again?”
He removes my glasses, setting them on the beside table, then tugs my blue t-shirt over my head. “Maybe.”
“You won’t need to worry about the angle of the sun. I’ll keep you busy every morning if I have to.”
“With sex? Or the other thing?”
His brutish hands work at my jeans, unbuttoning them, yanking them off. I’m left in my white, cotton boxers. He leers, his full lips curling upward, brows raised. “If I need to spank you, I’ll do that too.”
He’s not shy about it. I am. He likes that I am and he’s not. Teasing me about spanking gets a certain rise out of me which brings another kind of rise out of him.
To my great annoyance, it works. All I can think about now is him pulling me over his knee, spanking me before breakfast and what it will feel like to sit on my heated ass at our new kitchen table.
He pulls the covers back and shoves me to the bed. I land on my back and he’s quick to climb on top of me while at the same time pulling off his green t-shirt and tossing it to the floor. Shane has a wide shoulder-girdle and large, cappy delts. They’re round as melons and striated, the deep lines of them moving as he bends. His body is scarred to shit from his terrible childhood. Long scars run up the sides of his torso with smaller ones across his chest. They grew with him, the shiny, discolored skin stretched, evening out in places, disfiguring others.
Shane’s a fool saying he wears them with pride. They’re what he’s overcome; a sign of his strength. And yeah they are but I can’t let them go, even though I wasn’t there when they happened. He was a child for Chrissake. But I can’t help loving them because they’re him. Can’t help staring at how beautiful he makes them like he’s a warrior’s been marred in battle.
Our childhood was a fucking battle.
Shane’s head is round, like, basketball round which allows for a high forehead. The way his kohl-darkened eyes sit in their perch gives him a hawkish feel. Though, I’d describe him as more of an eagle overall. Fits more with his personality. With the careful way he moves. With the way he doesn’t move when he’s watching and listening. And he surveys. Subtle and quiet. He can go long stretches of time without saying a word, but he’s seen everything. Then he strikes.
His lithesome fingers pop the buttons of soft blue jeans—it’s an erotic thing just watching him undress—and the top of his black boxers are visible. “I’ve wanted you all day, baby,” he says. He shoves a hand down his shorts and grips his cock, stroking.
I smile. I don’t know how he wants me now like he’s always wanted me, like it’s our first time. “Remember the first time we did it?” I ask as he leans down to nibble at my ear, his curtain of hair falling over us, sealing us in darkness.
“I remember. I’ll never forget it.”
“We were horny teenagers. No idea what the fuck we were doing.”
His mouth is still by my ear. “But we know now.”
We do. Shane can drive my body like a well-oiled race car. I’m not too shabby myself.
It’s the middle of the night when my phone goes off. Fucking Darius.
Darius: I refuse to speak to Shane on your phone, Simon. Tell your overbearing blockhead I’m at a place near Ed’s bar on South and Main. I stayed the night with my marine man—he just fell back to sleep. I think.
“Is that Darius?” Shane says, his voice groggy.
“Yeah. He’s still alive. I have to feed his damn bird.”
Me: Shane’s still awake plotting your murder. I’m helping. We got Oliver by the way. Yes, I’ll feed your flying menace.
I don’t wait for a response, shoving my phone in the bedside drawer. No more Darius emergencies. If he’s abducted by Marine Man he’s on his own. He’s gotten out of worse.
I slip across Shane’s chest. He seizes my wrist and then laces his hand in mine. “You weren’t asleep?” I ask.
Dammit Darius. “He’s fine. He met some marine man. I have a feeling this one’s okay,” I add when he freezes. Darius has hooked up with some bad news.
“How do you know?”
I shrug. “Don’t. Just a feeling.”
He runs a hand through my hair. “Nothing we can do about it I guess. I’ll take you to feed the bird.”
I can go on my own of course, like Oliver can take an Uber on his own and Darius can decide what kinds of terrible mistakes he wants to make in bars.
But it’s not like that around here.
In the morning, Shane ties his hair into a low ponytail. It makes his round head look rounder. He pulls on a black sweatshirt and loose jeans. Today he reminds me of a raven. I’m the little bird and he’s the big one—he comes in a variety of species.
We feed Octavious. Silas isn’t home. We inform Oliver we’ll return to pick him up later.
At home, I drink coffee in my spot. There’s no sun today. It’s overcast. It’s probably going to rain. It’s late in the afternoon when Darius barges in, gracing us with his presence. He’s not himself at all. Is he wearing a sweatshirt? “Dar?”
Before he can tell me anything, Shane’s on him. He spins Darius around, yanks down his pants and loud slaps ring out in the kitchen as Shane’s meaty paw descends on Darius’s bare ass. Shane doesn’t lecture or say a word. Darius knows exactly what the spanking’s for. “Ow! Ooooow! Shane. I can live my own life. I don’t need you to—okay, ouch, I’m sorry!” he says when Shane spanks harder.
I flush on behalf of Darius who’s clenching his cheeks, his face screwed up in pain and who the neighbors can probably see—the window’s wide open. He cries out, a yelp for every spank but he doesn’t dare move out of target range. Darius’s ass is a deep red with distinct fingerprint-welts when Shane’s done with him.
But nothing’s going to squash the spring in Darius’s step this morning. He rubs, pulling his pants up at the same time, smiling like a loon despite the cloudy glare from Shane that competes with the brumous sky. “I’m sorry, Shane. I was drinking. I got carried away.”
Shane crosses his arms. Darius cows. “You forgot your brother. It would serve you right if he told Silas.”
That shakes Darius from the honey-flavored fog he rolled in here on. “He’s not going to tell Silas though, is he?”