| Date: 6 January 2008
Characters: Brant Hysmith, Jack Harkness Location: outside, hotel room Link to IJ: thread #26116 |
 It was late 'evening' according to both his biological clock and the slow return of the stars outside when he found Jack outside.
Even from behind, and even realizing that there was more than one version of him floating around, there was something more than the coat that told Brant that it was 'his' Jack. He resisted the urge to reach out mentally, and instead paced slowly toward him. "Hey," he said, calm and quiet and from a reasonable distance. "You planning on coming back inside tonight, or are we galaxy-gazing." Him going away wasn't one of the options. |
 Nothing wrong with galaxy gazing, not when they were all new, appearing slowly in the darkening sky and Jack would swear that some of them had shifted from the day before. The sound of Brant's voice made him smile, though, without even turning around, and he held a hand out, silent offer, not moving.
Shit, he really shouldn't let himself get too attached to Brant. Not that he seemed to be able to stop it happening. "In a while," he replied, quietly. Didn't mean he wanted to be alone, just some space to breathe away from the press of people gradually filling the hotel. "You know, I don't recognise a single damn one of them?" |
| Brant took Jack's hand when it was offered, and stepped up beside him, so they were shoulder to shoulder, with their joined hands between them.
"I can wait," he said, voice pitched low. Somehow that felt like it was more than waiting on Jack to come inside, even if that was what he'd been responding to. He didn't look to Jack, instead he tilted his head up to the sky. "Me either. I kind of like it." |
| Even without seeing him, the warmth of Brant moving closer was tangible, beyond the join of hands, and Jack curled his fingers around Brant's palm, gentle squeeze to acknowledge his presence, unspoken welcome. "You know, I've been so many places, so many times, and there's always something new. Something beautiful." |
| He made a low noise of acknowledgement as he continued to look at the swirl of light and color. "I've spent my whole life in one place, and as much as I was ready to go, it doesn't really stop being wonderful." This, though, was just brand new. |
| "I never went back." Not sure why. Maybe because the boy who'd left Boeshane wasn't the man who'd survived watching his best friend die. Maybe because he wasn't the golden boy any more. Hell, it just plain hadn't felt right to take that back to his family. |
| He squeezed Jack's hand and leaned very lightly into him. Not for support, not enough of his weight to require it, but enough to be felt. "You should." |
| That surprised Jack enough to turn his head, actually looking at Brant for the first time since he'd appeared. "You reckon?"
Okay, so not kissing that mouth was definitely something that required more willpower once he'd looked at it. He shook his head, forcing shoulders down, against the tension thoughts of home always brought. "Nah, it's been too long. Time travel's not so much something I do now." |
| He rubbed his thumb back and forth over Jack's hand, rhythmic and smooth. He turned and looked back at Jack, and flashed a quick smile. "Your call, but don't write anything off completely, okay?" |
| "Never do." The reply was almost automatic, but very true. Sure, he wasn't likely to go back to Boeshane, but that didn't mean it wouldn't ever happen. "How'd you get here from there, anyway?" |
| He paused for a second, deciding if the answer was serious or if he was being blown off. In the end he came down on the right side of the equation, let it go and moved on.
"I don't know. I got on a transport to the Academy, stepped off and into one of the hotel rooms. What about you?" |
| "Oh, now that's a long story." Boeshane to...here. Close to two centuries of long story. "Lot longer journey than yours, too, short version is that I got here from the twenty first century."
And he wasn't planning on telling the long version. "Academy?" Because it wasn't like there was only one academy in the universe. |
| Brant instinctively balked at answering that question. Maybe it was the fact that Jack was shutting down and backing away by offering the 'short version' that was setting off alarm bells. Maybe it was Jack's mentions of time travel, and not doing it much anymore. Maybe Brant just had good instincts.
"Yeah." He looked at Jack, steady and studying for a long moment. "I met another version of you." |
| Jack nodded, relieved that Brant was backing off the subject. Trying to summarise his life and explain an immortality he was still coming to terms with wasn't his idea of a fun few hours.
Plus, he wanted Brant to stick around, dammit. For some damnfool reason, he actually cared - kind of a lot - what Brant thought of him. "There's a few of me wandering around, I hear. Did I remember you?" |
| "I couldn't really tell," he admitted. "He was pretty familiar and seemed to know we'd been spending time together, but he asked a couple of questions that I'd assume he'd know the answers to, if he did remember." |
| Too many options there. Could be an older version, there was an outside chance on a younger version who'd managed to pick something up from Brant's body language, could be from an alternate reality completely.
"I met one of me, couple of days ago. Sounds like a different one, though." He grinned, suddenly, that couple of days felt like a whole world had shaken up along the way. "I shot him." |
| "Good thing there's a lot of you to go around," he said lightly, while he processed and dealt with the really stunning bit of information, there.
After a moment of silence he gave up trying to find a delicate way to phrase himself. "You shot yourself? Why?" |
| Shit. Yeah, okay, well, Brant was going to find out sooner or later. "I thought he - I - he - hell, the other me, the one I met? Anyway, him. Jack 2, or whatever. Could have been some kind of trap, illusion, there's all kinds of shape-shifters out there willing to try anything to get your trust."
He shrugged, meeting Brant's gaze steadily, keeping firm hold of his hand. "I needed proof that he really was another version of me." For that matter, he'd initially thought that Brant might be a trap. |
| He was with Jack through the trap. He was completely unsurprised that Jack had been wound tight enough, felt hunted enough, was just plain paranoid enough, to shoot someone he thought was a trap.
He got that. There was nothing confusing there, just a bit of worry and exasperation that flickered through his eyes and across his face. Then it all turned to just as blatant confusion. "How did shooting him prove he was you?" |
| Damn good question. Jack braced himself, mentally and physically, and made himself keep watching Brant's face rather than looking away. "Because he didn't stay dead." |
| Brant cocked his head to the side, his forehead wrinkled and he stayed quiet for a moment. There were layers of response there, starting with wanting to call Jack's claim impossibility, insanity, or both. Simple curiosity as to how the hell that had happened, or was possible or even could be possible. The reprecussions weren't entirely there, not yet. He was too busy with not understanding what the hell Jack was saying in a way that could be applied.
"What?" ...and his conversational skills were just stunning. |
| Not an easy one to explain. Two options - either go inside and try and talk it through, or take the short cut.
"I'll show you." Jack reached inside his coat, drew his pistol, primed it (keeping it carefully aimed well away from Brant), and held it out, butt towards Brant. "Shoot me." And hopefully Brant's aim was good, because otherwise he'd be shooting himself to get past a gunshot wound. "Kill me." |
| He took the gun, and then immediately held it straight out to the side and away from Jack.
"I am not going to shoot you!" |
| Dammit, because that was his one weapon. "Shoot me, Brant," he repeated, arms wide, stance steady, voice firm. "C'mon, one little favour, just kill me. It won't take long."
Wouldn't take, either. Or last long. |
| "No, Jack. See, one little favor is you asking me to turn the light out, or run down the dining room to get you a cup of coffee. Helping you kill yourself is way, way more than a little favor."
He took one step, straight back from Jack so he had more distance not between him and Jack, but Jack and the gun. He'd stop freaking out shortly. Actually, Jack's tone was getting through to him a little now. |
| "It won't last," Jack told him definitely. "See, that's how I know, but if we try this inside, there's gonna be blood and brains everywhere, and that's not the greatest fun to clean up. Trust me, I've done it."
He paced forward, closing the distance Brant had opened. "Shoot me. Head or heart, won't make much difference, but make it quick. Please?" |
| The please was what did it.
If Jack wanted to die, or if Jack was telling the truth didn't matter when he was asking with that much convicting, putting voice to that much need, and opening himself up that far for Brant. He pushed the images of blood and brains away from his mind, took a deep breath, held it and pulled the gun around. His hands were shaking like hell, he'd gone dead white, and he wasn't familiar with the weapon. Didn't change anything. He knew how to aim, Jack wasn't that far away. He didn't trust himself to make a heart-shot clean, even from that distance, so he aimed for Jack's forehead. He used both hands to steady the gun and all he had to do was squeeze the trigger. He didn't even hear the shot above the sound of his heart. |
| He hadn't been able to predict if Brant would actually do it. Even when the muzzle was facing him, far too familiar a sight for Jack to flinch.
One gun was much the same as another. It was the man behind it that made the difference, and shit, what a difference. The difference being that this time, Jack didn't want to stay dead, and the thought that it might just tip the balance scared him white. Not enough to back down from proving it to Brant, though. The shot took him clean in the head, hard and fast and burning heat driving into his skull, whiteredhot brightness for a split second before he dropped, crumpled, body falling to the ground as his consciousness was swamped in cold, empty darkness. |
| Blood and brains and splatter, and he wasn't going to be able to force those images out of his head so easily as had the last time.
He saw the light and life fade from Jack's eyes as he fell. He felt Jack's body hitting the ground as much as he heard the thump. He tried to tell himself that Jack had said he couldn't stay dead. He didn't believe it. He tried telling himself that Jack had wanted to die. He believe that, but it didn't make him feel any better. He tried to remember to breathe, and failed miserably. He carefully bent to put the gun down, and very precisely sat the hell down to before he threw up, fell down or fell into hysteria. |
| Slow, always slow to return, inevitable drift upwards from the cold, shudder and shiver as the first breath forced itself back through his lungs and a sharp biting pain in his head as tissue and bone knit back together.
A blink, and another, and okay, he was going to need a few minutes before everything returned, but he had his voice, rough and breathy. "Brant." No chance of forgetting the moment right before he'd died, the look on Brant's face, the implicit trust. The look in Brant's eyes that had gone a hell of a lot further into him than that bullet had managed. |
| Brant was still on the ground. He'd managed to adjust his position enough to cross his legs under him, and put his face down in his hands, but that was the extent of it.
He was trying to get his brain to work, to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do now, how to handle the body in the street and the gun and if he'd damaged the time-line or if it mattered at all here. Trying was the operative word, though. Mostly he was just trying not to cry or lose his dinner, and not to wonder what the hell he'd done. Not to doubt that he'd done it. When he heard Jack's breath he held his own and strained to hear. He heard his name and finally looked up. He didn't stand up, just flipped to his hands and knees and crawled the short distance between them, so he was kneeling near Jack's head. "I'm here." The bullet wound was gone. Jack was dead and now he wasn't. He'd process later. Try to process later. Try to stop feeling sick and stop shaking later. Right now, none of it mattered as much as being there. "I'm here, Jack," he said, softly, and lightly touched Jack's cheek. |
| Oh, Christ. Christ, that was so fucking good to hear, and Jack couldn't stop the open-mouthed smile at Brant's touch, looking up to find Brant's eyes, and that was definitely something he could get used to.
Hopefully without the dying. He couldn't stop the next words escaping, either, not after that, not after Brant had trusted him so deeply, not after Brant had been willing to shoot on his word. Not after Brant had shown such determination and courage and, damn it all, care. "Hell, Brant, you're amazing. You're incredible, you beautiful, fantastic man." A few more breaths, a few more heartbeats to feel blood pumping again, nerves responding, until he could lift a hand to cover Brant's where it touched his face. "I love you." |
| He listened to Jack, and just hearing Jack talk pushed back some of the shock-horror of blowing the back of Jack's head off. Not all of it, but enough that he managed to smile faintly, and mean it.
When Jack's hand covered his, he flattened his palm against Jack's cheek. Then he heard 'I love you' and just froze for a long moment. He managed: "I love you, too." His voice raw and ragged, but managed because not letting Jack know that was not something he was capable of. Then he laughed. It was a rough sound, cracked in the middle by a sob. "You jerk." |
| If it hadn't been for that break in Brant's laugh, Jack would have been laughing with him in sheer joy. Screw tomorrow, screw having to return to real time at some point, this was now and Brant and he sure as hell wasn't going to be able to hold back a reaction to that sound.
Sure as hell wasn't going to be able to sit up yet, either. He could roll, though, ground cold and hard beneath him, to wrap one arm across Brant's lap, resting his head on Brant's thigh, close as he could come to holding him. He wasn't about to dispute the 'jerk' comment, either, since it was way too accurate to deny. "Thanks. Oh, fuck, thank you." For trusting him, for shooting him, for loving him, warmth and joy and impossibility of that blossoming soft and precious in his heart. |
| He grimaced when Jack rolled. He didn't know what Jack was trying to do, but he moved his hand to Jack's back and slid his knees outward so that he was lower to the ground and easier for Jack to get to.
He rubbed Jack's back a little, slow and careful, over the coat. "Stop thanking me for killing you." He paused, took a deep breath and exhaled carefully, working to keep it steady. "You sound giddy." |
| "I kinda am." Blood loss, maybe, oxygen deprivation to the brain, all kinds of physical reasons. Shock, most likely, relief, all mixed in with concern for Brant.
He rested against Brant's lap for a few more breaths, and then pushed up, slow and steady, until he was sitting. The ground wasn't getting any softer. "It's not every day I fall in love." Or find it suddenly, unexpectedly, wonderfully returned. "Are you okay?" |
| He moved again to keep a supportive hand on Jack while he sat up. "All things considered, I'm great. All things not considered, I think I'm going to throw up, cry, and possibly faint. I'm getting over it."
Ask a question, get an answer. His filters were off. He leaned over and got Jack's gun for him, passing it carefully over to him, butt first. "I think this is yours." |
| "I think you're right." Jack took the revolver, checked the safety, and snapped it back into his holster, more worried about Brant than anything else.
He turned, wrapping an arm around Brant's ahoulders, best reassurance he could offer, holding him close as possible without testing his legs. "You'd never have believed me if I'd just told you." |
| He slid his hand under Jack's coat, and around his back. Carefully, and gently. He didn't pull away, didn't tense up and while he leaned it was almost entirely so Jack could feel him.
"I know," he murmured. "I'm not mad. I understand. Just something I hope I never have to do again." He loved Jack. He'd killed Jack. That was something that was going to make him trip. "I'll be all right," he promised. And he meant it. He was still raw and shaken and reacting, but he really would get through it. |
| "And I really hope I'm never gonna have to ask you to do it again." No way Jack could promise not to ask again, and he wasn't going to offer a promise he couldn't keep.
"I think," he added, arm tightening around Brant, firm and alive, and he wasn't buying that Brant was all right, not for a single second, "we need to find you a drink." |
| There was a reason he hadn't said he wouldn't do again, or wasn't ever going to do again. He would if he had to, but he didn't look forward to having to.
He finally really leaned against Jack, just for a second. "I think we need to make sure you can stand up before we worry about me, okay? And maybe get you into a shower." Yeah, the more with it Jack got, the more Brant was going to let go of his control and let himself feel it. Just not until he was very, very sure of Jack. |
| "A shower?" Okay, that one had kind of come from nowhere, though, yeah, he was probably due for one. Hard to keep track when time was so slippery. "You know you don't need any kind of excuse to get me naked, right?"
Standing up was probably possible, though Jack really, really didn't want to let go of Brant to find out. Mostly, he just wanted to keep hold of Brant until he was certain that Brant wasn't completely traumatised by what had just happened. |
| "Yeah, I know." He grinned and kissed Jack, very carefully and lightly. "I know. I just haven't seen the back of your head yet, and I'd just as soon not put my hand in blood."
He wasn't completely traumatized. He was shaken, yes, but the more he talked to Jack, the more things had time and room to sink in, the better he was handling it. The more he realized that Jack loved him. |
| Jack's instinctive reaction was to lift his hand, grimacing a little at the rough, matted feel of blood drying in his hair. Not that it was important compared to Brant kissing him, and okay, yes, he needed more of that.
But, as Brant had pointed out, not when Brant was likely to get blood on his hands. "Don't look," he advised, still making no move to get up. "The front of my head's much prettier." |
| "I have absolutely no desire to look," he assured Jack. He certainly wasn't putting his hand in Jack's hair. It had very little to do with squeamishness, and a lot to do with him needing to see Jack whole.
"How're you doing?" he asked more softly. |
| "Take me for a test drive and find out?" Jack offered with a grin. Returning to life had never been such a relief, so intensely wanted.
Time to find out if he'd regained full mobility, and with one more hug and a gentle kiss to Brant's cheek completely at odds with his flippant words, Jack moved away and carefully climbed to his feet, shooting Brant a triumphant smile as he straightened up. |
| "There's a pun in there somewhere, isn't there?" He murmured, and as Jack started to move away and get to his feet, Brant mirrored him, completely prepared to at least try to steady him, if it became necessary.
He returned Jack's smile with a quick grin, but kept his hand right behind him. Just in case. There was a lot he was going to need to talk about, but it could wait. Until he had Jack in the shower. For now, he just focused on getting Jack there, one careful step at a time. |
| "Somewhere," Jack admitted, unashamed, studying Brant carefully. "Still feel like you're gonna faint?"
Or throw up, whatever, closely related, but he wasn't going to take the chance of Brant hurting himself by falling. Plus, the room they'd claimed before wasn't on the ground floor, which as far as Jack was concerned meant that elevators were going to come into play. |
| He still looked a little rough around the edges - some tension in his jaw and shoulders, just pale enough to make his eyes look darker - but he was steadier, and said as much.
"I think I'll manage. It was just a big shock, and the worst has worn off. Not like I got shot in the head." He flashed a quick smile, at that. Making a joke of it wasn't easy, but doing it was a way for him to get a grip on it, while keeping an eye on Jack. Elevators were just fine with him. |
| "Okay." Jack wasn't entirely convinced, and he wasn't about to get distracted by that joke, but he trusted Brant to know his own body. Had a few hopes of getting a closer acquaintance with that body, but not until he was certain that Brant was fine. "If it gets bad, you just let me know, right?"
Which meant that he was making damn sure he had his arm around Brant's waist, and Brant's arm around his shoulders, giving as much support as he could. Shot in the head was an easyi way to die. Recovery didn't take long. |
| "Jack, sweetheart," he started. Then he stopped, and realized that Jack was pretty steady, and, what was more, he kind of liked Jack being concerned about him. So, he changed what he'd been about to say. "I'll let you know," he promised, instead of objecting.
He stayed quiet while they walked back to the hotel. He stayed close, too, and just focused on Jack in the shower and getting the blood scrubbed out of Jack's hair. He did not think about how it had gotten there. Very deliberately, consciously, blocked it, because that wouldn't do anyone any good. |
| The endearment made Jack smile, even though he didn't reply beyond a nod. He'd trust that promise, but more, he'd trust the way that Brant had stopped resisting and started leaning on him.
He wasn't planning on being alone in the shower. The lobby was, thankfully, deserted as they passed through, because the blood in his hair would have been a bitch to explain to any onlookers. Not long to wait for the elevator, either, rattling down to meet them. |
| Brant kept quiet. He rubbed his eyes while the elevator descended, and when it finally stopped and the doors slid open, stepped through without any hesitation, and some real intention. He knew where he was going, and the sooner they got there, the better.
He pushed the button for the appropriate floor. When the door closed and the elevator took off Brant moved his hand from Jack's shoulder to the collar of his coat, gripping it lightly, and made a low sound at the back of his throat. |
| For once, Jack couldn't interpret that noise. Pleasure, pain, exhaustion, could have been any of them, and his instinctive response was to wrap his other arm around Brant as well, bringing him closer as he leant back against the wall of the car, using it to support both of them.
"You okay?" His voice was soft, barely above a whisper, threaded through with concern. |
| It was a pretty indistinct, soft noise. He leaned against Jack, head turned so he could meet Jack's eyes. He wrapped his hand around Jack's arm at the same time, not just taking contact, but giving it.
"Yeah," he murmured. "Just didn't like the lurch." Of the elevator. |
| "I've got you," Jack assured him, smile spreading at the knowledge that it worked in more ways than one. Hell if he knew what he'd done to deserve this, but he did have Brant. His Brant. Sounded pretty good, at least inside his head. "Okay, I've got you, we're nearly there, and I'm not gonna let go." |
| Brant chuckled, very softly. Low, warm and loving sound, for all that it was quiet. "I could point out it was only uncomfortable for a second, but I think I'm just going to enjoy being had, instead."
And he was. For all the crap and things he had to work to get his mind around - this wasn't the hard part for him. Loving Jack felt as natural as breathing. |
| "It's gonna lurch again when we stop," Jack returned reasonably, not moving a muscle to let go. "And yeah, sometime, when you want - you're definitely gonna enjoy being had. I promise."
Even the thought of it trickled heat into his groin, which wasn't exactly uninterested in being pressed up against Brant, anyway. |
| "That's a fair point," he murmured in agreement. Even while he was stretching a bit further around to bite the side of Jack's neck. "And that sounds like a plan."
The idea, not to mention the feel of Jack, solid and warm and strong and so very, fucking alive behind him, was enough to make his voice a little rougher, bring some color back into his skin, flush right across his cheekbones, and for his fingers to tighten around Jack's forearm. Not pushing, not focusing on his cock, just reacting and going with it even more than usual, as shattered as his own limited defenses were. |
| Jack tightened his grip as the elevator stopped, lurching as predicted. It was more a reaction to Brant than the external movement, though, head falling back at the shiver of reaction to the scrape of Brant's teeth, fuck, the man didn't forget hotspots in a hurry. Turning his head, he nudged Brant's face with his chin, hinting him into accessibility for kissing as the doors slid open on the corridor.
"Let's move this somewhere we're not gonna get interrupted," he suggested softly. |
| The lurch bothered him much less this time, and his soft, low groan was response to Jack's reaction, rather than nausea. He much preferred it that way.
"Yeah," he agreed, shifting his grip on Jack to hold his hand, and stepping out of the elevator. "Like into the shower." |
| Laughing, Jack let himself be tugged out of the elevator and along the corridor, glad that Brant appeared to be feeling better. Steadier, anyway. "You're persistent, huh? I like that. Good trait."
And one he very definitely shared. "Gonna join me in there?" |
| He could not for the life of him remember which of these rooms was Jack's, so once they were out and moving, he hung back and let Jack take the lead.
"Yeah, I am. I'm going to stick you under hot water, and scrub the blood out of your hair. After that, I'll take suggestions." He smiled at Jack, with at least as much warmth as suggestion. |
| "Cold water's better for getting blood out." It was automatic, and Jack stopped as soon as he'd heard himself say it, fixing Brant with a hard stare. "And no, I'm not gonna volunteer for a cold shower." |
| "Do we need to worry about your hair becoming blood stained?" Brant asked, gaze level, one eyebrow lifted into a delicate arch. |
| "No," Jack replied, pushing the door open and grinning. "Gives my hair that kind of chestnut glow, it's kinda fetching."
Or not, but he wasn't about to expand on how often his head got injured, one way or another. |
| Brant followed Jack in, pulled the door shut and locked it behind them.
"Then hot will work just fine for both of us." He wasn't going to ask. Not yet, anyway. |
| Hot sounded a hell of a lot better than cold, though it also sounded pretty superfluous considering the amount of heat already between them. Jack shrugged off his coat, draping it across a chair, and followed it by letting his braces fall from his shoulders to hang around his hips. "You're not gonna take no for an answer, are you?" |
| Brant stopped what he was doing (unbuttoning his shirt) to look back to Jack. "Is this something that really bothers you, or makes you uncomfortable?" he asked, carefully. |
| "Nowhere near," Jack assured him, taking up the task Brant had left off, because he was far more interested in seeing Brant naked than getting there himself. Well, maybe not far more. A little more. He wouldn't mind if it happened first, anyway. "Trust me, if you find something that really bothers me, you'll know." |
| When Jack's fingers moved to undoing the buttons of his shirt, Brant went to work on Jack's. He knew from experience that there were layers of cloth and skin, and that same experience told him that he liked skin.
"How?" He asked, legitimately curious and softly challenging. Because he trusted Jack, but he wasn't sure he trusted Jack to not shut down if he was upset. |
| "Fair point." Jack considered in silence until he could slide his hands under Brant's shirt, pushing fabric back to give him a clear view of smooth, lightly tanned, lightly muscled skin. Sure, he wasn't great at trusting anyone enough to let them know he was upset, but...he could try, right? "I'll do my best to tell you, but if I go quiet, and I don't have my mouth full..." he grinned, winking at Brant, and then dipped his head to kiss the join of neck and shoulder, head carefully angled to hide whatever mess was hiding behind it. |
| The second Jack's mouth touched his skin, Brant paused. He stopped talking, he stopped thinking, he stopped worrying about it. His hands on Jack's shirt stopped being useful and instead fisted into the fabric.
He groaned softly, eyes closed and shivered. It took every bit of willpower he had to go back to getting that shirt off Jack. His desire to get Jack into that shower was just about the only thing that got his fingers moving again. |
| So fucking sweet, so fucking humbling the way Brant just gave, beautiful free reactions that lit fires inside Jack, wildfire burning higher with each sound, each movement, each touch. Jack let his shirt fall, and then stepped back to take care of his t-shirt and this time, remembered to remove his holster, though it sat in easy reach on top of his coat.
"Stay with me, Brant," he whispered, guiding Brant's shirt down and off, "I might go forgetting that shower." |
| Brant shook the shirt free when it caught lightly at his wrists. Hands and arms free, he stepped all the way into Jack. His hands went to Jack's belt, having an easier time freeing it than he had the last. "Not going anywhere," he murmured.
Because he wasn't, and they were getting into that shower if it killed them both. He needed his hands in Jack's hair as much as he needed Jack - needed Jack naked, needed his mouth and hands and skin on Jack. Last time he'd been nervous and forging a bond with Jack. This time, right from the start, it was about wanting Jack. Needing him, really, and the strength and warmth and trust and. He just needed Jack. |
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