| Date: 6 January 2008
Characters: Brant Hysmith, Jack Harkness Location: outside, hotel room Link to IJ: thread #26116 |
| Previous |
 Too many damn clothes, and too much time since he'd been able to get his hands and mouth and body on Brant. Jack was running out of patience with himself, and mostly with clothes. Mostly with boots, damn laces were definitely conspiring against him and he was going to have to step away from Brant to take them off.
Soon. Just as soon as he could make himself stop caressing Brant's back and sides, as soon as he could make himself stop tasting Brant's shoulders and neck, as soon as he could stop for long enough. |
 He got Jack's belt properly undone, then forced himself to put some distance between them, away from the warmth of Jack's hands and his his mouth and breath on his skin.
Not far, not far at all. Just far enough for him to be able to drop down, graceful, fluid and easy, to his knees and start working on Jack's bootlaces. |
| If it hadn't been for the complete lack of any mental contact between them, Jack would have suspected Brant of reading his mind. As it was, it must simply have been shared need, or Brant was better at reading body language than he'd expected. Either way, he wasn't about to argue, looking down to watch, one hand stroking rhythmically through Brant's hair. |
| Shared need. Practicality. Unwillingness to end up with their pants pooled around their ankles and him looking like a dork. He was still not thrilled with the idea of doing anything that made him look foolish. He got Jack's laces undone, one boot after the other.
That done he shifted to one knee, then the other, to take care of his own. He never completely moved away from the physical contact between them, and before he stood he unfastened his trousers so he could step out of his underwear, pants and boots all at once. |
| Less concerned about looking foolish but with a hell of a lot more practise at removing his clothes, Jack unfastened his pants with the hand not touching Brant, and then eased them down, shimmy of hips to help them on their way, boots toed off by the time pants reached his ankles.
"You know," he murmured, pausing over his wrist computer, which would have to come off before the shower, "this could be a really, really quick shower." |
| He stepped back into Jack, more settled and quiet. Something about Jack's pause and murmur softened Brant's determination, if not his arousal. It gentled his tone, too, even if he didn't understand the source of the hesitation or low voice.
He curled his hand around Jack's jaw, and stroked Jack's cheek with his thumb. "I sincerely hope so," he said, steady and quiet. "You sure you want me to go with you?" He was drawing the (incorrect) conclusion that Jack's voice and pause were about the shower, not about the wrist-comp. And, honestly, he wanted Jack's hair clean, but he didn't want anything that made Jack uncomfortable again. |
| "Don't even think about backing out on me now." Not when Jack could feel the heat and strength of Brant's body against his, all that warm, flawless skin, all that vibrancy and life.
He'd said, he'd not promised, but he'd given his word, that he'd try. That he'd say, and Jack looked down, and then back at Brant, drawing a deep breath and trying to find words to shape something deep as instinct. "There was...someone I travelled with. Two someones. I've got one thing left from that time, a hoard of memories and one thing, and that one thing...it's burned out, it's limited, it's not got a scrap of it's full functionality, but it's always with me." |
| "I said I'd stay with you," he reminded Jack, very, very gently.
Watching Jack try to find word, watching him try to talk to him was almost physically painful for Brant. If only because he recognized Jack's struggle to express himself, and to share what he was thinking and, more importantly, feeling. It wasn't something he could do for Jack, or even help Jack do. What he could, and did, do was keep his eyes on Jack, stay steady and patient, and listen. When Jack was finished speaking, Brant leaned in and caught his mouth in a soft kiss. "Thanks for telling me," he murmured. |
| "Said I would." It didn't get easier, logic suggested that it should get easier as he talked, but it didn't, tight around his chest and thickening his throat and humans weren't logical, Jack knew that, he'd seem it enough times, but what was easy was forgetting that he was human.
Not with Brant. With Brant, he was human, and alive, and scared white. And absolutely fiercely determined to hold on. Not thinking that he'd have to go back to reality, not thinking that he could go as quickly as he'd been brought here. Not thinking that Brant was mortal and would age and die over the years. Flipping the catch, he held Brant's gaze, and stripped the manipulator from his wrist, laying it down next to his gun. "Water's not good for it," he said quietly. |
| He slid his fingers down the outside of Jack's arm, eyes unwavering on Jack's, to the wrist. He curled his fingers around, lifted Jack's arm and kissed the inside of his wrist, all without letting go of eye-contact.
"I love you," he said simply. "I'm with you. You're going to be okay. Let's just. Get this done so we can get back to what really matters, okay?" His voice, through it all was infinitely tender, compassionate and, yes, loving. What really mattered was Jack's manipulator and a bed, where he could hold Jack properly. |
| The soft kiss to his wrist sent a shiver curling up Jack's arm and across his shoulders, gooseflesh following in its wake at the sheer tenderness of the action. "We're gonna be okay," he corrected, keeping eye-contact, leaning in to close any remaining gap between them. "And I really hope you're talking about the shower when you say 'get this done', though, because I don't think I can predict what really matters, right now." |
| There was something there, in what Jack said, how he said it, and the way he moved in to close the heat of Jack's body that shook Brant. This went so much deeper than he'd expected. For the space of one ragged breath, he wanted to back off, or back down.
There was nothing in the universe that would actually make him do it. Nothing, except possibly Jack himself. "I can," he said, quietly. "But I meant the shower." Hand still on Jack's wrist, Brant turned and led him to the bathroom. |
| Jack arched an eyebrow at being led along like a child, but didn't resist. Far from it - he closed the gap between them, and brushed a kiss against Brant's shoulder. "Thanks," he returned, equally quietly.
The temptation was to joke, to say something outrageous, to slide his free hand over Brant's chest, over his hip, down to cup his ass and lock them together physically, let sensation overcome uncertainty, but there was more there. More that deserved acknowledging. |
| Brant didn't let go of his grip on Jack when they go into the bathroom. In fact, he'd forgotten he was holding on.
Hand still on Jack's wrist, fingers curled around, strong and gentle, he turned the water on and adjusted the temperature with his free hand. "How old are you?" he asked, steadily. |
| Drawing a deep breath, Jack made himself stand very still, and tell the truth.
"Nearly a hundred and seventy." Hell of an age gap. Probably. "You?" |
| He rubbed his thumb over the inside of Jack's wrist when he answered, silent approval and appreciation. His lack of surprise was the biggest surprise, and it wasn't just because he'd seen Jack die and come back. It was because of how very tired Jack felt, and vulnerable and fragile.
"Eighteen," he murmured, and flipped the button to divert the water to the shower. "Come on." He stepped backwards into the tub and pulled gently at Jack to get him to step in. |
| Eighteen. Eighteen. Yeah, that was definitely a hell of an age gap, talk about robbing the cradle. He'd fallen in love with a teenager.
Plenty of people would make smart comments about his mental and emotional maturity. Screw them. Jack followed on, free hand automatically rising to tease at the mess in his hair again, and then abandoning it, sliding around Brant's waist to guide him close again. "Are you okay?" |
| He stepped into Jack, and nuzzled behind his ear, then nipped gently. One hand on Jack's back, the other going to find the damned shampoo, somewhere behind Jack.
"Not yet," he admitted, very quietly. He didn't like that admission, but Jack had been honest with him, and Brant wasn't crazy about lying. "But we're both alive and I'm not broken. So, I will be." |
| "Yeah," Jack confirmed softly. "You will be."
And there was one more thing he could have done to help out with that, but Brant had had more than enough to deal with from him for one day. Hell, for any normal lifetime, and then some. He reached behind him, guessing that Brant was searching for the shampoo, and handed it over with a grin. "We're both alive, and we're both in the same place." |
| He kissed Jack's shoulder in silent thanks for finding the shampoo. "One place definitely helps," he agreed, with a quick smile.
He had to back off a little to get the bottle open, but he didn't back off for very long, or very far. As soon as he had the soap in his hands, he dropped the bottle back to the ledge, stepped back into Jack and with his arms resting on Jack's shoulders slid his soapy fingers into Jack's hair. He was careful about it, looking for and finding the matted blood and easing off a little, but was pretty determined about both getting the blood out and convincing himself that Jack really was in one piece. |
| Jack let his eyes drift closed at the first slide of Brant's fingers. Big hands, he'd noticed that from the first, but feeling them cradling his head was a reminder. A very welcome reminder.
His own hands found Brant's hips, slick with warm water, and he leaned his head back into Brant's fingers, low sound of pleasure rumbling up from his chest. |
| Seeing Jack respond to him like that did as much to reassure and arouse Brant as the glide of Jack's hands on his hips. "God, you're gorgeous," he murmured.
Reaction or no, cock hardening or not, ache and twist of emotion for Jack, his first priority was Jack's hair. He kept working at it, sliding through over and over, all the way down to Jack's scalp, until the water ran clear. |
| "Not bad for a hundred and seventy, huh?" Jack teased, not opening his eyes. He wasn't sure he could. There was something so warm and soothing about the rhythmic patterns of Brant's fingers on his scalp, he was lulled almost into a trance, and very happily so. |
| "Not bad at all," he murmured in agreement. "It makes me wonder how old Kurt is, though." He pulled away to look at Jack's face, fingers still buried deep in his hair.
It felt clean now. That made more difference than it made sense to, but it was there, none-the-less. So did just really watching Jack. Living. |
| That was enough to snap Jack's eyes open. "Kurt?" he questioned, a little tersely. "Someone from home?" |
| He lifted his eyebrow a bit at the tone. "No. He's you." |
| "I'm pretty sure that I'm me," Jack pointed out, brows drawing together in confusion. |
| "He's a version of you. Only he's visibly older, and he's going by Captain Kurt." |
| "Captain Kurt?" Jack couldn't help a chuckle at that. |
| It was his turn to look confused, and his eyebrows drew together. "That's what he said...." |
| "I just bet he did." Jack grinned, sliding his hands up Brant's back to splay wide on his shoulderblades, tracing the shape of bone and muscle under smooth skin. "So what did Captain Kurt have to say for himself?"
...something about a Captain's log, perhaps. |
| He got his hands out of Jack's hair and leaned into him. "Mm. Mostly he just ate my lunch," he said carefully. "Talked about pink aliens, Cardiff, and Time Lords." He slid his hands down Jack's back and turned the water off. |
| "Time Lords." Jack's expression turned a little wistful. "I met a Time Lord, once. Just one. Last of his kind."
Couldn't recall any pink aliens in Cardiff, though. Glasgow tended to attract the pink ones. |
| "I." Brant started, then stopped. His brain was just saturated, and not accepting any more new information, today. That he couldn't even figure out how to question that was probably a clue. "Can we get out?" |
| Jack's attention snapped back immediately, concern filling his face as he looked at Brant. Hell of a place for a man to end up on his way to the Academy. Hell of a place for anyone to end up in, but for Brant, inexperienced in time travel and probably relatively inexperienced in meeting people from other places and times, it had to be even harder to deal with.
"Sure," he replied softly. His turn to take Brant's hand, guiding him out, and snagging a towel to wrap around his shoulders. "Still not broken?" |
| He went with Jack's guidance easily - and at least for the moment, gratefully. He moved away from Jack just enough to be able to get a towel for Jack.
"Still not broken," he promised, quietly. He didn't so much dry himself off as he did wrap in the towel and let it wick water away. "Just a little overwhelmed." It was a weird feeling. Usually he did okay keeping up with stuff, but at some point in the past few hours he just stopped being able to keep up. |
| Wrapping the towel around his waist, Jack reached for Brant's instead, drying Brant off with brisk, gentle strokes, and possibly lingering longer than necessary on his ass. "Let's get you that drink, huh?"
It only took a few seconds to dry himself off, and then, bending forwards, he wrapped the towel around his head and rubbed vigorously, shaking his head as he returned upright and slung the towel over the side of the bath. |
| He was all but purring as Jack dried him off. It wasn't just a physical thing. It relaxed him. Let him stop thinking for a few minutes and just lean. It felt kind of incredible.
He watched Jack drying himself off, lazy look and vague smile, but his gaze didn't waver, either. "I suppose that means I have to get dressed again. Probably not a bad idea, though." |
| "You're gonna cover up that beautiful body?" Jack paused to appreciate it, because if Brant was threatening to hide it behind clothes again, he'd absolutely take every chance to get a damn good look, if not more. |
| "Depends," he said with a quick and warm smile, watching Jack back. "How long do you think it's going to take to find a drink?" |
| "About...thirty seconds?" Jack offered, with a wide grin. "What's your poison?" |
| "Thirty seconds?" he echoed, and for just a second he almost decided he wanted to ask. "Surprise me." |
| Probably less than thirty seconds. Padding naked back into the bedroom, Jack automatically strapped the manipulator back to his wrist as he passed, and then bent down to open the minibar, retrieving two miniatures of brandy and pouring them into the toothglasses that were the only alternative to teacups.
Hell, after the time he'd spent here, he'd definitely earned a drink. "Surprise," he grinned, and held out one glass to Brant. |
| Brant followed him into the bedroom, and headed straight for the bed. Something about warm naked skin and clean sheets, and it was almost as much a physical pull as his attraction to Jack.
He watched Jack move, pouring and preparing the drinks from the bed, and sat up again to take the glass when Jack offered it to him. He held it up to the light for just a second, then tossed it back with a flip of his wrist. Somehow it was almost a graceful motion. Even if he did go a little wide-eyed when he swallowed. The spreading warmth of the alcohol, though, that followed the burn was utterly, completely, amazingly, fantasticly, beautifully perfect. |
| It was far too easy to see when the hit of the brandy reached Brant, the flutter of eyelashes, the sudden dispersal of tension. Jack wasn't fond of alcohol as a rule, but there were times when it came in damn handy, and kicking emotional shock was one of them.
Perching on the edge of the bed, he sipped at his own more slowly, relishing the slow heat. Dying wasn't exactly fun, but he was pretty much physically recovered, at least, and having Brant around helped a hell of a lot with the rest. Mostly because he was more concerned about Brant than himself. "Okay, now let's see what I can do about really making you feel better." |
| Brant leaned over to put his glass beside the lamp on the nightstand. He only looked away from Jack for long enough to make sure that he hadn't set it too near the edge.
"You have something specific in mind?" He asked, quiet and lazy but with an undeniable hint of a tease. He moved away from the edge, so Jack would have pleanty of room to move in either direction, stretched out on his side, arm folded under his head and smiling faintly. |
| "Got a few ideas," Jack replied, watching with every appearance of calm, small smile curving his lips. Brant was beautiful, no doubt about that, moved beautifully, too, graceful like a cat, smooth, fluid movements. Like a dancer.
...or a gymnast. Setting his own glass down, he leaned in to take a kiss, as lazy and teasing as Brant's words, and the taste of Brant spiced with brandy was a hell of a lot more intoxicating than brandy alone. "Roll onto your stomach for me." |
| "I thought you might."
His faint smile broadened and warmed a bit more. When Jack kissed him, Brant curled his hand around Jack's neck to meet it. Brandy and Jack and warmth and strength. The warmth from Jack sank a lot further than the brandy had, and drove relaxation a little deeper. He made a soft, low sound of protest when Jack pulled away, but he did as he was asked. Rolled onto his stomach without hesitation or fear, pulled the pillow down over his crossed arms and rested his cheek against it. Completely unconcerned with his back being exposed, completely comfortable with Jack at it. There was something there, something in the impossible and irrefutable truth of Jack coming back from death when he'd said he would. In asking Brant to do something as hard as killing him, Brant pulling the trigger, and having that faith, however shaky it had been then, proven. It would take a hell of a lot, Brant realized, to make him doubt Jack. |
| Jack let himself simply sit back and watch for a while, taking in the sight of Brant stretched out and waiting for him, trusting him. Trusting him, through everything, through every scrap of new knowledge and experience thrown at him, hell, that took guts. More than guts, heart as well, and Brant had both in generous amounts. Amazing, incredible man.
Good job Brant didn't have enough sense to stop him falling for Jack, because Jack wasn't sure he'd be able to walk away. Definitely sure that he didn't want to. Dragging his gaze away, he reached across to retrieve the small bottle of lotion sitting on the nightstand - God, hotels were amazing places - flipping the top and smelling it cautiously before tipping some out into his hand, spreading and warming. He set the bottle down, and laid both hands on Brant's back, leaving them still to let warmth and connection seep through. "Shout up if you're getting cold." |
| Brant's eyes fluttered closed at the hands against his back. The muscles under skin and Jack's hands shifted and he made a low, approving sound. Not quite rousing himself to really move, but responding to the light pressure and promise of that touch with the restless shift and barely there press into them.
"I don't think that's going to happen," Brant murmured. His voice was soft, his speech so lazy that it was almost slurred. He wasn't asleep, or even sleepy. He wasn't anywhere near inebriated. He was just very warm and, even with the slow return of heat and deep and, somehow easy arousal, very, very relaxed. A hot shower, brandy and Jack. Being anything but warm, turned on, and secure would have been hard. |
| The heavy slowness of Brant's words brought a warm smile to Jack's lips, leaning down to drop a kiss between sharp shoulderblades, lips lingering on Brant's skin. Pure physical connection, every trace precious.
"We've got all night," Jack whispered, kisses trailing up Brant's spine to settle on the back of Brant's neck as he began to move his hands, slow, soothing movements, hardly firmer than a caress. "So if you get cold, or there's anything you want to keep you warm..." |
| He moved in response to Jack's lips moving, bringing his arms out from under the pillow to cross on top of it, head turning so his forehead rested against his crossed wrists and giving Jack unrestricted access to the back of his neck, while maintaining the ability to breathe.
He acknowledged Jack's offer with a soft sound that caught in the back of his throat, and didn't even come close to being an actual word, head tilting down further, spine arching up. Into Jack's hand and mouth. "I'll keep that in mind," he finally managed. |
| Those reactions were definitely going to be Jack's weak spot, every time, so free, so hot, that easy give to Jack's attentions. Grinning against Brant's neck, he kissed the newly exposed skin, continuing up until he could catch Brant's earlobe gently between his teeth. "You do that."
Sitting back wasn't such a chore when it meant that he could see Brant again, hands working slow circles over the rise and fall of bone and muscle, searching out any trace of tension remaining. "Or, you know, I could just throw a few suggestions out there." |
| Brant gasped at the catch of Jack's teeth, tensing up in pure, sexual, response. When Jack sat back, hands soothing away tension and tightness, he turned his head again, looking back over his shoulder at Jack and cocked his eyebrow.
"Does one of them involve teasing? Possibly by being really erotic and really soothing at once? And making me decide if I'm falling asleep or impossibly turned on?" He was playing. His voice was still slow and heavy, but the gleam in his eyes and lightness in his voice were pretty dead give-aways that he wasn't at all bothered by what Jack was doing to him. Far from it, in fact. |
| "Wasn't planning on it." Though it didn't sound like a bad plan at all, to Jack, except for the bit about falling asleep. "I kinda prefer you awake."
More than kind of, because Jack was pretty sure that, asleep, Brant wouldn't respond so freely, or make such beautiful sounds. "Though I wouldn't mind waking you up sometime." |
| Being woken up by Jack was a really, really, appealing idea. Brant groaned softly, put his head back down in the pillow and pushed into the bed. It was a hot idea, in general, but the intimacy of the idea was what made it downright searing.
"Me either," he murmured, into his pillow. "So, about those ideas..." And he was still heavy and slow. He was just now heavy, slow and hot instead of warm. |
| The words were good, but it was the groan that cemented the determination in Jack's mind. One day, and one day soon, because hell if he could guess how long they'd have together before one or other was whisked away by whatever twist of reality had brought them first, he'd take his time, and wake Brant up.
Very, very gradually. He leaned in, pressing harder as he dragged his thumbs along Brant's spine, starting central and working out, one hand on each direction, until his hands were resting on a shoulder, and more lightly on Brant's ass. "There's a few places I've not tasted yet. What do you want, Brant? Anything you've heard about, read about, anything you wanna try?" |
| Jack's hands moving in opposite directions ended up physically confusing Brant. Put more simply, and plainly, he couldn't figure out which direction to move, and ended up just curling his fingers into fists and shivering, very lightly.
He flushed at Jack's question - or maybe the statement before it. Even face down that blush was visible across his shoulders and up the back of his neck. His response left him a little bewildered. Sex just wasn't something that embarrassed him; he was inexperienced in practice, but he certainly wasn't unfamiliar with much. "Jack," he said slowly, without looking up from the pillow. "There are two things that are really important to me, to do with you. One involves my mouth and your cock. The other involves your cock and my ass. Anything else you want - Well, I promise if you make me uncomfortable I'll squawk." |
| Jack blinked, sat back on his heels, and then laughed, more at himself than Brant, soft and warm. He could see the colour on Brant's shoulders, on his neck, and it was pretty tempting to taste that, find out if it tasted different with that extra heat.
Brant's statement was a surprise, and shouldn't have been, and spread heat through Jack, settling in his groin, hot and heavy. "Turn over for me?" He wasn't about to accept a statement like that without seeing Brant's eyes. No matter how much he wanted to. |
| His metaphorical hackles raised a bit, and shoulders just started to tense up at the sound of Jack's laughter. It wasn't that he didn't trust Jack, it was just that adolescent wounded pride thing.
He rolled over, though, found Jack's eyes and immediately relaxed again at both Jack's obvious arousal and, really more importantly, lack of being mocked. "Yes, dear?" And there was not a thing defensive, or anything but warmth and humor in his voice. |
| Cracking a smile, because there was no way he couldn't at that, Jack lay down, rolling to be able to look directly into Brant's eyes, and reached out to run a single finger along Brant's jaw, settling with his hand against Brant's face. "I'm not gonna try and tell you I don't want either of those, 'cause we both know I'd be lying."
But there were a few steps between wanting and doing. |
| Brant rolled onto his side and made a vague carry-on gesture with one hand. "But-," he began, and left it hanging for Jack to finish.
There was obviously more that Jack hadn't gotten around to saying, at least yet, and Brant wasn't about to jump to conclusions about motivations or emotion, or put words in Jack's mouth. |
| Jack let his eyes drift from Brant's face, following his hand as he stroked down Brant's neck, across his shoulder, following the line of his arm until he took hold of that waving hand. "But what I said before still applies."
Looking up, he met Brant's eyes steadily. "I'm not gonna push you for anything before we both want it to happen." |
| Brant twisted his hand around so he could weave his fingers through Jack's, so his palm was pressed against Jack's.
"Are you trying to protect me from myself, or from you?" He asked, voice low and eyes on Jack's, steady and unwavering. |
| "Both," Jack replied seriously, curling his fingers firmly around Brant's palm. "I know damn well I can get you worked up enough you'd be begging for me to fuck you, and you wouldn't even be thinking about if you wanted it until after."
And he wasn't about to do that to Brant. Or to himself. |
| "Yeah, you could," Brant agreed. He left a brief pause there, for emphasis, before adding: "But you didn't."
He stopped there, for just a couple of seconds to try to figure out how to say what he wanted to say. In the end, honesty and clarity won out over caution, and he tried Jack to be able to handle frankness. He tightened his grip on Jack's hand, and got on with it. "This was my idea. You asked me what I wanted and I told you. If it doesn't happen, now or ever, I'll live with it, and I won't love you one bit less. " He kept his eyes on Jack's, and his voice and smile were both completely honest. "I don't want you to do something you don't want, or aren't ready for, either. Just don't confuse the two, sweetheart. I am just fine." |
| Every damn time Brant said anything along those lines, it stole Jack's breath away. Made his heart flip over in his chest and stopped his breath, stopped his world, giddy whirl centred on a fulcrum of Brant. Silently, he raised their joined hands to his mouth, and kissed Brant's knuckles, one by one, ending with a slower, softer kiss to the back of Brant's wrist.
"It's gonna happen," he whispered, looking up to Brant's face without surrendering contact with his hand. "Oh, honey, it's gonna happen, and it's gonna happen soon, and you're gonna love it." |
| Brant loved Jack. Brant adored Jack. Brant trusted Jack. Brant had no damn idea what he'd just said, or done, to inspire that response in Jack. Every bit of love and trust he had for Jack was visible in his eyes, and so was the milder, and much more subdued, bewilderment.
"I never doubted it," he said, softly, and he meant that, too. He gently tugged his hand free, but only to stroke the backs of his fingers over Jack's cheek, and move closer. Lacking any idea what to say, but pretty clear on being worried about Jack again, intensely protective, confused and with the nagging certainity that something horrible and damaging was, however indirectly, affecting Jack, he put his arm over Jack's waist and got as close as he possibly could. |
| There would probably come a point where Jack would lose patience with Brant's worry, but it wasn't going to arrive any time soon. Instead, the warmth and protectiveness of Brant's embrace was very definitely welcome, and Jack shunted closer, aiding in closing the gap between them. "You're beautiful," he told Brant quietly, voice low and certain. "You're beautiful, and I'm gonna make love to you til you can't tell where you end and I begin." |
| Jack getting impatient with Brant's over-protectiveness would probably be a good sign, all around, when and if it happened. And only in part because it would mean they'd been given enough time for it to happen.
Brant nuzzled Jack's throat, rubbed his back and just breathed, slow and easy and careful. Listened to his own heart beating, and felt Jack's against his lips and hand. He flushed again at Jack's remark, skin heating a bit against Jack's. "I'm going to look forward to it," He murmured, low but not quite certain. He wasn't uncomfortable, just a little lost, not quire sure what had just happened, and following Jack's lead until he was. |
| The trace of uncertainty in Brant's voice was enough to make Jack lean back, still holding tight to Brant's hand, other arm wrapped firmly around Brant's shoulders, thumb stroking slow circles against his skin.
"You're not gonna get much chance," Jack told him, hint of a grin teasing at his mouth. "Not for the first time." Because he'd got plans, or at least hopes, that it could be something that would happen again. And again. And again. As long as Brant enjoyed himself, of course. Without breaking eye-contact, Jack reached out mentally, gentle caress of his mind against Brant's, offering, asking. |
| He smiled when Jack pulled back, and any tension that had returned in his uncertainty began to be eased out again by the rhythmic slide of Jack's thumb against his skin.
He met the gentle touch of Jack's mind willingly, not quite falling open but opening himself to it. Reaching back and letting Jack in, more confident than he was in the moment. It wasn't hesitation, it was just simply not knowing what was going on, or where this was going now and lack of being sure how to react right now. He'd been thrown by Jack's reaction to him saying he was fine, and he didn't want Jack to do anything he didn't want. "Oh?" he asked, quietly. Tell me. |
| Ripple of warmth and assurance. Jack's grin widened, easier to read now he knew Brant's uncertainty, could feel it under the welcome, clear as the truth of Brant's words and Brant's wants, and he wasn't planning on leaving those unsettled for long.
"Yeah," he replied softly, and then closed the final space between them, firm and decisive and wanting, slow, deep kiss that fed and offered up love and desire and hunger. Might be planning to take things slow, but he wasn't hiding any of his enthusiasm for Brant's suggestion. |
| It was exactly what Brant needed. The warmth and confidence and want. The connection to Jack. Knowing that Jack was okay, and where all the pieces were.
It wasn't about needing Jack to want him, wonderful as that was, it was just about knowing where they were, in the aftermath of a day that had challenged everything he'd thought he'd known about reality, and brought him face to face with just how much he loved, and trusted, Jack. He slid his fingers into Jack's hair and curled them lightly and returned the kiss. Love flaring bright, desire fed by Jack's hunger woven through. He groaned softly, held onto Jack and everything outside Jack - the taste and feel of his body and mouth and mind - stopped mattering. |
| Days that included dying very rarely turned out well in Jack's experience. Today was looking to be very much the exception to that one. Couldn't think of a better way to conclude that being in bed with Brant (technically, on a bed, but hey, they'd get there, eventually), in private, with world enough and time.
The touch of Brant's consciousness against his own, the simple openness and trust, first contact since he'd let the weight of a word label what lay between them, was enough to catch at his heart as well as his body. Heart, hell, enough of this and Jack would start believing he had a soul to touch. What he did have to touch was Brant, and he wasn't planning on waiting much longer to make the most of that, reluctantly disentangling his fingers from Brant's hold in order to have them free to explore Brant's back. And his hips. And his ass, oh yeah, definitely his ass. |
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