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MOCK WRITES: Story #2 Simon and Shane

Updated: Jun 30, 2021

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.


Love,

Mock





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.
Me: No.
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.”
“Yes, sir.”
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?”
“You’re overbearing.”
“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.