| Date: 18 December 2007
Characters: Brant Hysmith, Jack Harkness Location: hotel room Link to IJ: thread #13681 |
 He spotted the coat before the man. It was distinctive, striking and appealed to him on both counts. The man, when he noticed him, was similar. It wasn't until he got to the eyes that his head cocked to the side and he went from glancing to looking, and from looking to approaching. Not that the 'decision', as it was, wasn't impulsive.
"Are you Jack?" he asked. |
 Jack paused, glancing away from the view for a moment and back towards the French windows he'd passed through on his search for somewhere...elsewhere. Somewhere away from people, just to take some time, try and work out what he was doing there. Or what he could be doing there.
And deal with the knowledge that the Doctor was here. Possibly even his Doctor. The sound of his name made him look round, though, meeting startlingly blue eyes in a face he almost recognised. "Who's asking?" |
| He stopped a reasonable distance away, responding to the aggressiveness of the question. His stance changed from easy and only slightly wary to more solid, feet planted shoulder width apart, chin up and eyes up, his center of gravity down.
"My name's Brant." To his credit, at least his answer hadn't been 'me'. |
| Nodding, Jack pulled his hands from his pockets, coat falling forwards, and leaned back against the railings. He'd checked their security earlier, wasn't feeling quite reckless enough to simply fall (apart from anything else, it was kind of embarrassing). "I'm Jack."
The realisation that he couldn't make that statement with much assurance called out a half-smile. "Or, I'm a Jack. Were you looking for one in particular?" |
| He stepped a bit to the side so he could keep his eyes on Jack, and leaned back against the wall. "A couple of people mentioned your name. I didn't realize there was more than one, but you still seem to fit the bill. " He half-grinned. "It's the eyes," he added, with that grin and by way of explanation. |
| Briefly wondering what the hell had been said about his eyes, Jack widened them slightly, and then took a sweeping glance of the young man watching him. Young, hell, yes, but with plenty of potential. And not a bad pair of eyes himself.
"I've met the other me. And let me tell you, it's not every day a guy can say that." Not a bad grin, either. "Should I ask why you were looking for me?" |
| He mirrored the image and his grin flashed just a little broader and brighter, dimples coming out for just a half second before he subsided to an amused but more neutral expression.
"A nice guy told me you were. Let me see. Smart, funny and brave. A slightly strange one told me you were a friend, but if there's more than one of you." He shook his head, just a little. "This place really is messed up, isn't it?" |
| He laughed at that, soft and heartfelt. "It is at that. Really messed up. Where d'you hail from, Brant?"
And if he ever found that nice guy, he'd have to pass on his thanks. The strange one could be any one of a million people. Possibly more. |
| "At least the company so far seems to be really good." He couldn't help relaxing at the laugh. It was a nice sound, soft as it was. It felt honest, and eased him the rest of the way off the lingering edge of wariness.
"The Boeshane Peninsula. It's a tiny little place," he almost apologized, because he didn't expect anyone to have heard of it, really. "You?" |
| "You...no shit." Jack stared. What were the odds? And he'd learned by then that coincidence didn't exist. "Okay, promise not to freak? I'm from the Boeshane Peninsula." |
| "You really should have waited for me to promise not to freak before you told me that." He didn't freak, though. He did grin. "It's nice to see someone from home, and who knows. Maybe there's more to the place than there seems."
Like rifts in space and time, weird particles in the water, who knew. It was a fun theory though, and one he was willing to run with just for the fun. |
| "Long time since I've seen anyone from the old homestead." Jack stepped forwards with a smile, hand extended. It wasn't enough to earn his trust, not by a long damn way, but it was one hell of a good start. The grin was another step. "Captain Jack Harkness. I'm the younger one." |
| He stepped forward and took the hand, fingers curling over and gripping strong and solid. He couldn't have not returned Jack's smile with anything less than a grin if his life had depended on it. "Younger, prettier and in possession of a really nice coat. Brant Hysmith, and the pleasure's mine, Captain."
He wasn't nearly as suave as he thought he was, but he was having a good time, completely charmed and well. It might not have been enough to earn Jack's trust, but it was enough for Brant. |
| Jack laughed aloud at that, full and free, settling into a wicked grin. There was no way Brant could judge age or prettiness if he'd not met the other Jack, but he wasn't about to fault the man's taste. Plus, he'd complimented the coat, and that scored brownie points. "Pleasure's always better shared, Brant Hysmith. Call me Jack." |
| He flushed a little at Jack's remark, because he's better at dishing it out than taking it, even when he's not taking it seriously and laughing along with Jack. "I'll take your word for it."
His laughter faded to a grin that was way, way more sweet than wicked. "I can definitely call you Jack; sir sure wasn't going to happen." And he's a bit of a brat, sweet grin or not. |
| Christ, that sweetness stronger than Jack had expected from Brant, reminiscent of so many memories, Estelle, Rose, Algy, Jon, nostalgia wrapped up in one powerful smile. He let Brant's hand fall, slowly, and slipped hands back into his pockets, head tilting as he took measure again. "We can work on that." |
| He didn't have easily accessible pockets, so when his hands were freed he folded his arms behind his back, and still against the wall. "Oh, yeah? Which part - me taking your word for it, or calling you sir?"
The banter was easy. Comfortable and play and familiar, in a way. It didn't mean he was going to lose the slight flush across his cheeks, but knowing he was playing this game with someone who knew what they were doing did nothing to diminish the spark of warmth and humor in his eyes that came from. Well, playing. |
| Some distant part of Jack's mind noted that he really should be out looking for his team, and was rapidly shouted down by the part that told him his other self could take care of that. "You can keep on with the taking my word. It's usually worth taking."
Most of the time. He wasn't given to outright lying. There was something about this one, though, a weird kind of innocence told in the color on his cheeks that had Jack stepping cautiously. Too ingenuous to be a trap on his own, could be lure for another trap since he'd come looking for Jack, but then, Jack was pretty sure he could make his way out of any trap laid for him here. Even if he did end up dying again. Besides, the lure looked pretty tasty, chest expanded that way, light shirt pulled tighter to show the musculature. He'd just have to be careful not to take the shine off. "I'd bet money I could get you to call me sir." If he had any. He probably had a tenner or two in his wallet from heading out to the club, but AmEx wasn't going to cut it here. |
| The smile wasn't going to leave his face any time soon. It was a little crooked, one corner of his mouth turned up and as he listened to Jack one of his eyebrows crept up in a delicate arch.
"You're awfully sure of yourself," he said, in simple observation. |
| "I didn't say I'd bet a lot of money." |
| And there his look turned from a little bratty and playful to positively impish and a little wicked. "So you're not sure of yourself?" |
| Oh, now that was a promising look. Jack chuckled, and took a step closer, and another, purposely invading Brant's personal space. The man was pretty nearly exactly the same height as he was, more slender, and oh, those eyes were eyes he could fall into for a while. "I don't carry a lot of money."
Sure of himself wasn't an issue. |
| There was a thread of tension at Jack's step closer. Barely there, in his hands tightening around his arms behind him and the set of his shoulders, just enough to be a little wary of Jack's obvious strength and power, but his eyes stayed up and on Jack's.
"I'm almost sure we can work out another pay off." His grin flashed brighter for just a second, but lost none of the mischief. "For when I'm not calling you sir." |
| "So you're not sure of yourself." Jack was enjoying himself more than he probably should, and he'd never really been fond of being called 'sir', but the challenge was set, and he was definitely sure he could meet it.
As long as Brant didn't back down first. |
| "That depends entirely on your plan of attack," he admitted, eyes bright with suppressed laughter. "But I'm absolutely positive you aren't going to win."
Oh, he wasn't going anywhere. He was having a good time. |
| "Absolutely positive?" Jack asked, voice dangerously soft. To be frank, which he hadn't been for a while, terrible name, always so dull, he didn't actually mind so much winning or losing, as long as the game played out to its end. "Name your terms, Brant." |
| Brant went still. He kept his eyes on Jack's, and as he regarded the older man his expression shifted from playful and light to one that mingled heat and caution.
"Lose the gun," he said softly, and the low volume wasn't about sounding dangerous, just about keeping his voice steady. "And the second I tell you to stop, we're done." It was a lot of faith in the honor and word of a stranger, but all of Brant's straight-forwardness and comparative simplicity added up to him trusting himself, his ability to handle it, Rowan's judgement, and that if all Jack wanted was to hurt him, he already would have. |
| "The second's a given," Jack responded immediately, not moving an inch, fixed on the breathy edge to Brant's voice. "I don't force anyone."
Arrogance headed to the surface with a tilt of his head. "I don't need to." |
| "I'm sure you don't," he agreed, pulling his arms from behind his back and taking hold of the lapels of Jack's coat. "I'm sure you'll forgive me for not assuming it's a given, too. Now, about the gun."
He was breathy. He was flushed and he was just starting to want, more than casually. He was not nearly as sure as he was making himself sound, but there was a draw there, to the confidence and unknown, that just made him want. It was the game, it was the edge of danger, and it was Jack himself. It was absolutely everything he wasn't going to find at home, and that was exactly what he needed. Or thought he needed, anyway. |
| "Absolutely." It was oddly reassuring to see that Brant had some kind of sense of preservation, even if he was daring himself against an unknown quantity on a fucking balcony, for chrissakes.
Jack slid his hands slowly, deliberately up from Brant's waist to his chest, fabric dragging and bunching under his palms, and leaned in close enough that he could feel the uneven heat of Brant's breath, coiling dark need tight in his groin. "The gun stays within reach. I've got no fucking clue who else is here or what they might want from me." |
| His eyelashes fluttered, but he kept his eyes open. The heat of Jack's hands, seeping through the light fabric and drag of the fabric itself, the slightly cooler air against the exposed skin had his fingers curling tighter in the wool of Jack's coat, pulling against it in the reflexive arch away from the wall and toward Jack.
His already uneven breath caught in his throat, and he groaned so softly it was almost inaudible. "I can live with in reach, but I really don't want to have an embarrassing accident with an antiquated firearm." For as turned on as he was, hard and pressing and rattled by it, he was amazingly articulate. |
| "Deal," Jack breathed, low and intimate, "and you're talking too much."
There was a simple solution to that one. Angling his head, he closed the final fraction of an inch between them, and kissed Brant, slow and controlled and careful. |
| He could feel Jack. That was the thing that kept getting to Brant, reaching in and grabbing hold and turning familiar want into less familiar need.
It wasn't just the heat of Jack's hands against his skin, or the feather-like brush of breath against his face in those seconds before he was being kissed. It was the warmth trapped by the coat, and a lot of very real presence. He made a soft sound at the back of his throat, half surprise, all arousal, as he met the kiss. His hands slid under Jack's coat, pressing against the elastic of his braces and into solidly muscled shoulders, and kissed Jack. There was no reserve there, no hesitation and the only caution was in that Jack was knew. He was soft and open and giving, his teeth were there, but gently tugging at Jack's lower lip as his fingers curled down. |
| The rush of sweetness with Brant's kiss goes straight to Jack's head, pure as oxygen, intoxicating as hypervodka, and he gave into instinct, one hand cradling Brant's jaw as he deepened the kiss, soft sting of teeth on his lip spicing the sweetness.
Anyplace else - well, a lot of places else - he could simply had sank into the kiss, deep and drowning and warm, other hand slipping around Brant's waist to draw him in closer, press bodies together, feel the unexpected solidity of youthful grace, feel the uneven beat of Brant's heart keeping rhythm with his own. Not there, though. Not there and then, slight breeze tugging at the tails of his coat, and he drew back, just far enough to break the kiss with a final, gentle brush of lips, passion stirring slow and much missed. "If you want the gun gone," he murmured, edge of a smile warming the tease of his words, "we really need to get the fuck off this balcony and some place more secure." |
| There was something in the hand curling around his jaw that, combined with the kiss deepening, went straight to Brant's cock. Caught him off guard, made him gasp instead of groan.
He was very slightly wide-eyed when Jack pulled back, breathless and having to blink to focus both his eyes and his attention, but he got it there. "Yeah," he agreed, his voice low and hoarse. "We really should." He pushed gently at Jack's shoulders and slid out from between him and the wall. |
| Jack stood still for a moment, simply watching Brant, noting the signs he'd just been thoroughly kissed. The brightness of his eyes, the dark swell of his lips, and the unmistakable mix of relaxation and expectation.
Jesus. He couldn't remember last time he'd taken a man to his bed. There had been a few, of course, men and women both since Estelle, but nothing since he'd been reliving the years he'd spent with the Doctor. And now, this beautiful young man, eagerness and innocence and potential, in this place, outside time... Pushing his hands into his pockets (and surreptitiously adjusting his cock in his pants) he strolled across to the French windows, pausing to look back at Brant. "Coming?" |
| He watched Jack move away from him, the picture of casual confidence, watched the way he moved, watched the way the coat moved around him. The time helped him gather his wits, even if the view didn't.
He'd never done this, not with any sort of intent of follow through Not because of taboo or fear or reluctance, but just because he'd known the people around him a little too well to really wanted to. He really wanted to now. "Not yet," he said, and pushed away from the wall to follow Jack with a grin. |
| Not yet was enough of a promise to bring Jack's grin flashing out, one hand freed from his pocket and extended towards Brant. "Soon. C'mon, this hotel must be able to find us a room." |
| He laughed softly and took Jack's hand, his fingers curling around in a warm grip that wasn't testing, but was definitely hanging on. "I showed up in one and I haven't seen that many people here. I'm sure there are dozens empty." |
| "Then," Jack said, using his grip on Brant's hand to draw the man closer, still intrigued by the novelty of a guy exactly the same height, definitely made kissing easier, good grip to his hand, too, oddly familiar, "let's go find one."
Not that they'd have far to go, hopefully, testing doors as they went along until one gave under his hand. |
| He fell into step beside Jack, his hip just brushing Jack's as they walked. When one of the doors gave he nudged lightly against him, rather than trying to step past him. Especially with Jack holding his hand.
"If only everything was that easy." He grinned. |
| "You've not seen the room yet." Not that Jack had too many doubts, but his free hand was still hovering near his holster as he peered around the door, checking for inhabitants or any other nasty surprises before tugging Brant through.
"Some things are this easy." |
| Jack's hand near his gun made Brant's shoulders tense up. Not because he was expecting trouble, or wasn't, but because Jack's hand was near his gun.
He stepped with the tug though, and looked over at Jack with a faint grin and his eyebrow just a little up. "Like what?" |
| "Like me," Jack said, a trifle smugly, and kicked the door closed. |
| He looked startled for about half a second before he burst into laughter, bright and uninhibited and... easy. "Yeah, I'm getting that idea. There's nothing wrong with easy, as long as it doesn't get anyone shot." |
| That was one hell of a beautiful laugh, nearly as beautiful as the pause before it, and Jack grinned in response, sliding his arms around Brant's waist, loose and, yeah, easy. "Hasn't so far. What d'you do, Brant?" |
| He leaned back against Jack's arms, not because he needed to look up, but because he wanted to. "So far so good?" He asked, still teasing a little. Then he frowned. "Do?" |
| "Do," Jack repeated patiently, hold tightening slightly to support Brant's weight. "D'you fuck or get fucked, vanilla or kinky shit, are you gonna freak out if I suck your cock...?"
Sure, he could take time to find out, but it was always easier, in his experience, to ask upfront. Much more pleasant not to freak someone out. |
| The language wasn't foreign, but it didn't stop him flushing a little with the faint laugh.
"I don't know what I do," he admitted. "Exactly, anyway. Except freak out, and that'd likely take a lot. Is that going to be a problem?" He was almost playful, and definitely teasing a little with that. |
| "You don't know?" Jack echoed, keeping most of the surprise from his voice. How the hell did a guy that pretty not know?
Leaning back a little and telling his cock to calm the fuck down, he fixed Brant with a steady gaze. "You've not done this before?" |
| He gave Jack a fake look of surprise, light of teasing laughter behind it. "This? What we're doing right now? Yeah, maybe once or twice. Sex on the other hand...," he trailed off. |
| He mentally changed down a few gears, still not letting go, but keeping his hands in very definitely neutral places. That one, he really hadn't expected. Hadn't got any qualms about Brant's age, that was just an accident of temporal continuity and nothing to stop for, since Brant was evidently more than old enough to know his own mind, but...
"No sex?" he questioned softly. "And...you wanna?" |
| He lifted both his eyebrows and nodded, slowly and deliberately.
"Yeah. Wouldn't you wanna?" |
| "Oh, hell, yes." Jack grinned, and then laughed out loud at that, because that was a complete no-brainer. "But the first time, with a stranger?"
He was well aware that Brant was close enough to tell that his body, at least, had no doubts on the matter. His mind wasn't quite so simple. Sex was fun, sure, a hell of a lot of fun, but there was something about a first time. A first time should mean something. "I know I can make it good for you, but you don't know me from Adam." Whoever Adam was. Probably somewhere around this place. |
| He dragged his fingers down the center of Jack's chest, and kept his eyes on Jack's. Another benefit of being the same height is that eye-contact was very easy.
"Look," he started. "You're hot, you're confident, you obviously know what you 're doing and what you want, and you're just as obviously going to keep me safe and treat me with respect. Just asking that question's a dead give-away to that. I like you. I'm having a good time." He paused, and his fingers hooked in the front of Jack's waist band and tugged lightly. "Just play with me. Assuming you can do that and keep your honor in tact, of course." And the last sounded light, but wasn't. That Jack was hesitating told Brant a lot. Or something, anyway. |
| It had been over a century since anyone had made any kind of comment on Jack's honor, and the mere mention of it made him grin in memory of Estelle. "You've got your head screwed on right."
At least, as far as self-preservation was concerned. "So..." he leaned in, lips brushing against Brant's ear, warmth striking through from the press of Brant's hands against his waist, "let me rephrase that. What do you want to do? Apart from me losing the gun." |
| He slid his hands around Jack's waist, and under the coat. He made a low sound of appreciation at the warmth, at the muscle under his hands and the soft brush of Jack's lips against his ear.
"First I think we need," he said, pressing lightly against Jack's back, instinctively pulling him a little closer, pressing against him and then almost shocking himself with the warmth and weight against his cock and just how perfectly they lined up. "First I think," he started again, after that pause and shudder and gasp, "I need to know if how undressed you can be and feel safe." |
| That was a hell of a lot more sophisticated an answer than Jack had been expecting from a man who'd never had sex, and caused another rapid adjustment in attitude. "Depends if you're talking about clothes or not."
Because if Brant could ask the question, he deserved a decent answer. At least, as decent as Jack could manage with the promise and strength of Brant's cock fitting perfectly against his own. |
| He pressed his fingers into the muscle along either side of Jack's spin, strong and warm but not digging or rough. He was breathing just a little fast, lips slightly parted and cheeks flushed. Thinking, talking and not rocking into Jack held his attention was enough work that there was a slight pause before his answer.
"I'm talking about clothes." Though his expression, even with the arousal, held something that looked a little like worry, too. |
| The faint hint of doubt in Brant's eyes was definitely something that needed to go, and Jack knew one surefire way to lose that. Well, several, but the quickest and most pleasant for both of them was a kiss on those parted lips, licking deep and strong into Brant's mouth, hold tightening, one hand slipping down to settle over the firm, tight curve of Brant's ass. Oh, hell, yeah, playing was definitely not going to be any kind of problem. |
| He responded instantly, and any coherent thought he was having about anything went right out of his head. He got one of his hands free of the coat, up to the back of Jack's neck to hold on. His entire body pushed into Jack's, muscle flexing and tightening in Jack's hand, his breath caught in the back of his throat, and he kissed Jack back with everything he had. Warmth and suction and the slick slide of his tongue, and just very, very there. Yeah. Playing. |
| Oh, Jesus, Brant was sweet, sweet and open and responsive and bright as champagne, bubbling intoxicating through Jack's mind and body, not a hint of anything held back. The fearlessness of a man who'd not learned that there could be anything to fear, and Jack was a little surprised at the fierce protectiveness that insisted that as long as he could help it, Brant wouldn't learn. At least, only in theory. Experience was a bitch.
Letting go of Brant for a few seconds to let his coat slide from his shoulders, Jack broke the kiss, eyes bright, breath shallow, hips still pressed firmly together. "I'll trade you. Piece for piece." |
| He made a low noise in protest at Jack's hands moving away, and when the kiss broke he opened his eyes. He was aroused, looked very slightly irritated at the loss for as long as it took him to blink.
Then he heard what Jack was saying and laughed, rough and breathless, fingers tight in Jack's shirt. "So the answer's less naked than you?" He wasn't bitter, or mistrustful. He was just amused, and knew that just with the braces and coat, he was wearing far, far, less than Jack. He was okay with that. "Deal," he agreed, barely a heartbeat later, forcing himself to step back, fingers at the throat of his shirt, unfastening it enough to be able to pull it over his head and toss it aside. The brush of air against skin made his nipples harden, made him shiver a little, but all that really meant was that he was stepping right back into Jack. |
| "I guess you'll find out," Jack murmured, amused glint in his eyes, hands sliding over the smooth, warm expanse of Brant's back. Nice. Really fucking nice, lean and lightly muscled, strength under his hands and nipples that puckered readily when he brushed experimental thumbs over them, dipping his head to press a soft kiss under Brant's ear, tongue playing lazy circles in the hollow. |
| Brant jerked a little at the brush of Jack's thumbs, but the push was still toward him, even if the motion was out of control enough to almost be a flinch. The sound that made it's way out of his throat at Jack's mouth pressing at that point between his ear and jaw, the soft heat and drag of Jack's tongue over his skin, was low, and deep and the sound shuddered with his body.
His fingers suddenly curled and clutched tight in the back of Jack's shirt, cock hardening more against Jack's, "Fuck," he gasped, voice so rough that he was almost growling "Jack. That's. Yeah." |
| Okay, reactions that turned him on that much should probably be illegal, but since Jack was pretty sure that there wasn't any kind of law enforcement here, he'd just have to roll with it. Damn shame. Christ, the level of trust Brant was giving him with that honesty was kind of humbling, and he wasn't about to let that down.
His turn to lose clothing, shrugging braces down over his shoulders to let them fall around Brant's hands, minimal loss of contact because as long as Brant was writhing that way, no way in hell Jack was stopping. Continuing, definitely, in a slow trail of kisses down Brant's neck, one hand gently encouraging Brant's head to the side to grant him access. |
| When the braces fell against the back of his hands, Brant let go of Jack's shirt and wrapped the elastic around his hands. It let him keep his grip on Jack, but changed where his hands were- lower, right against the small of Jack's back, and above his belt. Steady solid pressure and holding Jack against him, and him against Jack.
He followed Jack's urging hand to tilt his head out of the way, heat and pressure and he'd never belt so aware of his pulse in his life - under Jack's mouth, sound of blood in his ears, in his cock. He swallowed, against the rush of heat and tightness, groaned softly and licked his lips. Realized that the angle of his head, the way Jack's was bent, the way they were tangled together, meant that he could reach Jack. Barely a brush of warm breath and the vibration of another groan, push into Jack and he dragged his lips across Jack's jaw, ending with a gentle nip at the edge of his ear. |
| Jack was trying his hardest to maintain some kind of control, at least self control, but the scrape of teeth against his ear sent sparks of heat zinging through him, electric and alive, gathering tight in his balls and he'd swear to any kind of deity that he might possibly one day believe in rather than just swear by that he could feel the pulse of Brant's heartbeat, steady under his palm, less steady against his cock.
"Your turn," he whispered, continuing his slow journey downwards with a sweep of tongue along the sharp line of Brant's collarbone. |
| He loosened his grip on Jack's braces, hands sliding up along his back, following his spine, all the way to the back of Jack's neck where he scratched, very lightly. Until Jack's tongue slid over his skin, at which point his fingers tightened and just held until he remembered to breathe again.
"I know. I don't want to move. Bed?" Because then at least he could get his boots off (having his pants stuck around his ankles was not his idea of a good time) without letting Jack go. |
| "Bed," Jack agreed, voice a little rough. He wasn't exactly keen on letting go of Brant, either, not when Brant fit against him incredibly well, when he could feel, so clearly, the press of Brant's cock. It was the thought that letting go was actually necessary to get closer which persuaded him to untangle himself and step back, frankly appreciative glance taking in Brant's dishevelled state. "Jesus, Brant, you're gorgeous." |
| Brant didn't move as soon as he was let go, instead stood there with his chin tilted very slightly up, with bright eyes and flushed skin, eyes dark and cock hard, while Jack looked at him. When Jack complimented him, he grinned. "I know," he said, with a breathless, husky, laugh. He stepped forward, palms going to Jack's shoulders, sliding slowly down his arms. Then he took one of Jack's hands in his own, turned and walked backwards to the bed. "And I'm not going to bed alone."
Yes, he'd sit when he got there, and let go to actually undress, but his willingness to really let go of Jack until absolutely necessary was just about non-existent. |
| That laugh shivered along Jack's spine, provoking him into movement, one slow step forward, and then another, and another, until he'd backed Brant up against the edge of the bed and simply kept moving until he was as close as he could get without actually touching, close enough to feel the warmth of breath on his face, close enough that Brant's face blurred slightly in his vision, and that was a damn shame.
Close enough to feel the tension in Brant's body, the expectation, the need leaping unexpectedly strong inside him, way too fucking long since he's let himself want like this, let himself feel. "You are gonna take more clothing off, though." Jack grinned, mischief and happiness lighting his eyes, and lowered his voice. "Because I can't suck your cock through that much fabric. I'm good, but I'm not that good." |
| Trapped between the yielding pressure of the mattress against the backs of his legs, and the warm strength and presence of Jack, Brant closed his eyes, dropped his head and his shoulders in a slow stretch against and into the heat and force of arousal, all fluid movement and the shift of muscle under skin.
Then Jack said something about his cock and sucking and Brant's eyes opened, dark with arousal and wide enough to look surprised. His breath caught, then turned shallow and fast. His hand came up and he grabbed the front of Jack's shirt before he fell, quite literally, into the bed. "I'm not arguing," He managed, after just a second, "but I am not taking my pants off before my boots." He was really, fucking, desperately wanting. There was nothing in this world that was going to get him to do something he thought looked dumb. |
| Jack automatically wrapped his arms around Brant when he felt the balance shift, though he didn't have any objections to Brant clinging to him. Not a single one.
Or to Brant taking his boots off, because there were definitely times a guy didn't want to get a kick in the head. Or back, or hip, or thigh. Or (he winced mentally in memory) in his balls. "How about," he murmured, wondering if Brant was bringing out the latent vampire in him because he couldn't seem to resist the temptation of Brant's neck, lips brushing against it as he spoke, tongue flicking out to taste the saltsweet tang of skin, "I take your boots off, and you take your pants off." |
| Jack's mouth against his throat was quickly becoming one of Brant's favorite things in the world.
The heat and light flickering touch of Jack's tongue against his skin made his pulse skip and race. He pulled himself in against Jack again, nipping lightly at the edge of Jack's jaw and then sucking softly at his throat. He slid his arms around Jack's waist again, pulling lightly at his shirts, not to pull them off, but just out, so his fingers could brush skin. "I think we've lost the fairness of this exchange somewhere," he murmured against Jack's throat. "I can live with that." |
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