SCI -- Open Topic
Devin blinked back at him, his brows knitting together as his mouth opened just a little. “You -- what?” he asked, confusion and something else overtaking his features.
Jazz adjusted the screen to his laptop and licked his lips. “I think I know which country you’re in,” he repeated, an uncomfortable thudding in his chest. “I’m going there tomorrow. I want --” He swallowed. “I want to -- to see if I’m right…”
“Told you, never heard of fucking ‘Cliffton’ before. Doesn’t make any sense,” Devin said, his expression sobering.
“Devin, it --” Jazz looked away from the screen and shook his head. He glanced around his bedroom; at his suitcase flipped open on top of his bed, waiting to be packed. “It makes sense. Your people -- the way they don’t really let anyone in or out; Cliffton’s the same way. And the time difference -- it’s midnight there, right? Three hours ahead of me? That’s the time difference between the Alban Empire and Cliffton, and --” He caught his lip between his teeth.
He hadn’t expected this conversation to be easy. For all of the times they’ve talked about this, Devin had always been convinced they weren’t even on the same planet. He’d never heard of the Alban Empire. Had never heard of anyone other than the Enemy -- and Jazz had a sneaking suspicion he knew who they were, now, too. “It’s surrounded by mountains on the eastern border. There’s a sea on the northwestern border. And it’s mostly desert.”
Devin’s eyes had grown progressively wider; his mouth dropping further open. Even through the grainy quality of video, Jazz could see him swallow, hard as he ran his fingers through his braid. If he looked closely enough, he could even see Devin’s hand shake as he settled it in his lap and turned away from Jazz. “Going there -- tomorrow?” he asked.
“Yes,” Jazz answered, an odd tightness forming around his ribs. “I should land in their capital at around four your time, tomorrow. And I leave Saturday at two, your time.”
“Three days…” Devin murmured, the words barely audible through Jazz’s speakers.
“Three days,” Jazz said back. “I’ll be there for three days. And I want -- I should have time to -- to...”
To see you, his mind finished while his mouth couldn’t. But the look on Devin’s face said everything.
“Gotta make sure you’re right, first, dude,” Devin said, a wry smile tugging on his lips. “Lemme know when you land.”
***
“Did you tell him?” Savin asked as Jazz stepped out into the living room. He looked up from his laptop, noticing the quiet lines forming on Jazz’s brow and the unasked question on his lips. “C’mon, like I didn’t figure out why you were so anxious about this trip, tomorrow…”
Jazz snorted at that and shook his head, stepping around Savin’s armchair and settling into his corner of the couch. He tucked his legs underneath him and picked a book up from the small end table beside the couch, which Savin’s chair was perpendicular to. “I have no idea what you’re talking about…” he murmured, flipping through the pages as though to find his place.
“Jazz,” Savin said, an odd note to his voice. “You think you’ve found where he lives, right?” he continued, closing his screen and setting the compact computer aside. He leaned against the arm of his chair closest to the couch, his eyes never leaving Jazz’s face.
“I --” Jazz’s face turned pink and his eyes wouldn’t meet Savin’s. “Just because I think I know where he is doesn’t mean I’m right -- and even if I am, it doesn’t mean --”
“You’ll get to see him,” Savin finished for him, feeling a soft, understanding smile make its way across his lips as Jazz nodded. Jazz then rested an elbow against the side of the couch, his fingers lifting to thread through his hair and his nails raking over his scalp, his attention intently focused on the text in front of him. His smile fading, Savin pushed himself out of his chair and sat back down beside Jazz.
"You really want to see him, don't you?" Savin whispered, stretching his arm out behind Jazz's shoulders. Even without touching Jazz he could feel the way the other man tensed. "Jazz, it's okay if --"
"I know," Jazz said, cutting Savin off. He looked up from his book and rested it in his lap. He still didn't quite meet Savin's eyes as he spoke. "I just -- I told him I'm going to be there tomorrow, but what if I'm wrong and he's not in Cliffton at all or what if he can't get to where I am before I leave or --"
Savin reached for Jazz's chin, directing Jazz to look at him. Their gazes met, and in the sharp light of the lamp beside them, Savin could see the tears shimmering in Jazz's eyes. "You'll get to see him," he said with every ounce of conviction he had.
Jazz nodded, those tears of his still refusing to fall. He breathed out slowly and closed his eyes, pulling his chin away from Savin's fingers. "And you're -- okay, if he and I...?" The question was left unfinished, though Savin's stomach twisted with it, all the same.
"You love him, don't you?" he asked, his mouth having gone dry. He licked his lips and swallowed, not at all waiting for Jazz to answer. "Jazz, I -- it would be a little naive of me to assume the two of wouldn't -- do that, considering..." He trailed off, unsure of how to approach this.
"I guess so, but --" Jazz cleared his throat. "If you -- told me you didn't want me to, I'd -- he'd -- we'd understand. I'm your boyfriend, not his, you know? And --"
"Just because you don't refer to him as your boyfriend doesn't mean the two of you aren't partners, Jazz," Savin said, unable to hide the dryness in his tone. He kept his arm behind Jazz and looked away from him, looking out over the mantel above Jazz's ornamental fireplace. There were a couple of framed pictures displayed on it, all of them various pictures of Jazz and Savin together. He turned back to Jazz and flashed him a brief smile. "I've accepted that a long time ago -- you two talk every day, you work each other up every day..." He snickered as Jazz's face turned pink, once again. "How is it any different between you and him than it is between me and you?"
"We practically live together and he and I have always been 'just' friends..." Jazz murmured. He leaned against the back of the couch, tugging Savin's arm from the back of the couch to around his shoulders.
"Friends who'd fuck each other into the ground if you could," Savin quipped, which earned him a light-hearted back-handed smack in the chest from Jazz. Jazz's reaction just made him grin, and he leaned in close, pressing his lips to Jazz's neck. "Am I wrong...?"
"No," Jazz grumbled, hiding his face with one hand. It did nothing to hide the redness of his ears, however. "But that doesn't mean we're -- 'partners' -- either. Devin and I -- we've never... talked about what we are. We just -- well, okay, we decided we were friends with benefits forever ago, but -- it's never come up again."
"Bring it up while you're there," Savin said without missing a beat. His lips trailed up the edge of Jazz's neck again, and he murmured, "Tell me how it all went when you come back..."
Jazz let out a quiet noise, which could have been a confirmation to Savin's spoken demand or a reaction to Savin's continued teases, Savin couldn't tell. Jazz shivered; his breath grew a little more labored. "Savin," he said, hands gently pushing Savin away. "I still have to pa -- oh god..."
"Packing can wait..."
***
Cliffton was nothing like he had imagined it to be.
Jazz found himself mesmerized by the tall, ornate and futuristic buildings surrounding them. President Piere had also been nothing like he had anticipated, either -- a respectable gentleman in his forties -- not at all the harsh dictator Jazz had imagined after their initial talks. He had even taken Jazz and his entourage on a small tour of the capital city -- and a detail stuck out at him, causing his heart to pound in his ears:
A fence. A tall, black fence that stretched on for miles in both directions.
He couldn’t count the number of times Devin had talked about a fence. How Devin’s roommate Wes would hop it just to go back home and see his family in the Republic. So when he found the opportunity to do so, Jazz took several pictures of the area surrounding him with his phone and sent them to Devin. Confirmation. He needed confirmation.
Showed Wes your pictures, dude, Devin sent him several hours later. Says he knows where you are and that it’s not far from his family’s place. Want me to meet you at the fence?
Don’t come tonight, Jazz sent back, his heart in his throat. As much as he hated typing the words, he knew it was better to wait. I want to be able to actually spend time with you. Are you free tomorrow night?
Already cleared my schedule. Got work tomorrow, but I can grab my shit and meet up with you after.
That works for me. I can’t wait. <3.
And so his meetings dragged, the discussions too long and convoluted despite Jazz being the one to initiate them in the first place. But the newest treaty was signed; ceremony was had, and Jazz watched the clock inch closer and closer to Devin’s scheduled arrival. At fifteen minutes out, he slipped on a pair of shoes, grabbed his phone, and took his head guard, Amelia, with him to the fence -- following Devin’s directions all the while.
His heart knocked against his ribs as he leaned back against a tree, the walk only taking him ten minutes and Amelia hanging back, watching from the shadows. The hotel loomed somewhere off in the distance, and Jazz wiped his palms on his jeans. Just a few more minutes, and --
Tears stung his eyes and his breath caught in his throat when he saw him. Years. They had waited years for this and neither one of them could find their voices for a minute, Devin now just inches away from Jazz with a bookbag slung over one shoulder, the sleeves to his button-down rolled up with the collar undone.
It was Jazz who broke it first, reaching out for Devin with one hand and pulling him close, standing on his toes to bring his lips to Devin’s. Devin met him partway, returning the kiss without hesitance, his hands on Jazz’s hips.
He didn’t want to move. But they had to -- he had planned this whole night. A trip to a nearby restaurant. Walking the city together and exploring it. Time spent in the hotel room, alone, making good on all of the “threats” they’ve made over the years.
So when Jazz pulled away from him, he took Devin’s hand and he guided him back to his hotel. Amelia kept her distance, a silent and unobtrusive eye. Jazz dragged Devin all over the city, took pictures of them both and sent them to Savin, pulled Devin into private corners out of sight of others just to feel him up close.
It was two in the morning when Jazz glanced up at Devin, one arm draped lazily over Devin’s stomach while his head rested against the junction of shoulder and torso, and whispered the words, “I love you.”
He’d never said them before.
Devin tensed underneath him, his fingers no longer drifting along the planes of Jazz’s back. Even in the dimmed lighting of the room, Jazz could see how his eyes widened; how his throat constricted. “You sure?” he asked, the disbelief obvious in his voice.
Jazz let out a quiet snort at that and pushed himself up with one arm, leaning forward to brush his lips against Devin’s. “Yes, I’m sure,” he said. “I don’t expect you to say it back or anything, I just -- I wanted you to know.”
Devin nodded, his long hair falling to cover part of his face. As he brushed it aside, his amber eyes locked on Jazz’s, heat radiating from him as he said, “Never thought -- didn’t think you’d…” He cleared his throat and turned his eyes back to the ceiling. “You, too,” he eventually managed. Shifting his weight so that he faced Jazz once again, a wry smile on his lips. “Guess that means we’re not ‘just’ friends who fuck, huh?”
That time Jazz laughed, the sound of it widening Devin’s smile to a grin. “Guess we’re not,” Jazz said, and he leaned forward, bringing his lips to Devin’s. He cupped the side of Devin’s face and allowed the kiss to deepen slowly, getting carried away once again in the body underneath his as hands moved along every inch of bare skin.
Partners, they later decided once they had finished, breathless and covered in sweat. Partners, just like Savin told him they were.
He liked the sound of that.
***
Less than twenty-four hours later, Jazz found himself stepping back inside his private apartment and flipping on the lights. He dragged his suitcase behind him, tossing it beside the couch as he tugged at the knot of his tie and pulled it loose. As he passed the mantel he stopped, his brow furrowing as he noticed the folded piece of paper sitting beside a picture frame.
It took him a moment to recognize the picture in the frame -- him and Devin, arm in arm, the both of them grinning from ear to ear. He’d made Devin take it, since his arms were longer and allowed for a better angle. It was placed right beside a similar picture of him and Savin -- in the same frame, he realized after a moment, his fingers plucking the note off the ledge.
Now you have matching pictures of both of your partners, the note read in Savin’s cramped script. Love you. I’ll be home in the morning.
Jazz drifted his fingers down the length of both photographs, Savin’s note replaying in his mind. Partners. Plural.
He couldn’t be any luckier.
Jazz adjusted the screen to his laptop and licked his lips. “I think I know which country you’re in,” he repeated, an uncomfortable thudding in his chest. “I’m going there tomorrow. I want --” He swallowed. “I want to -- to see if I’m right…”
“Told you, never heard of fucking ‘Cliffton’ before. Doesn’t make any sense,” Devin said, his expression sobering.
“Devin, it --” Jazz looked away from the screen and shook his head. He glanced around his bedroom; at his suitcase flipped open on top of his bed, waiting to be packed. “It makes sense. Your people -- the way they don’t really let anyone in or out; Cliffton’s the same way. And the time difference -- it’s midnight there, right? Three hours ahead of me? That’s the time difference between the Alban Empire and Cliffton, and --” He caught his lip between his teeth.
He hadn’t expected this conversation to be easy. For all of the times they’ve talked about this, Devin had always been convinced they weren’t even on the same planet. He’d never heard of the Alban Empire. Had never heard of anyone other than the Enemy -- and Jazz had a sneaking suspicion he knew who they were, now, too. “It’s surrounded by mountains on the eastern border. There’s a sea on the northwestern border. And it’s mostly desert.”
Devin’s eyes had grown progressively wider; his mouth dropping further open. Even through the grainy quality of video, Jazz could see him swallow, hard as he ran his fingers through his braid. If he looked closely enough, he could even see Devin’s hand shake as he settled it in his lap and turned away from Jazz. “Going there -- tomorrow?” he asked.
“Yes,” Jazz answered, an odd tightness forming around his ribs. “I should land in their capital at around four your time, tomorrow. And I leave Saturday at two, your time.”
“Three days…” Devin murmured, the words barely audible through Jazz’s speakers.
“Three days,” Jazz said back. “I’ll be there for three days. And I want -- I should have time to -- to...”
To see you, his mind finished while his mouth couldn’t. But the look on Devin’s face said everything.
“Gotta make sure you’re right, first, dude,” Devin said, a wry smile tugging on his lips. “Lemme know when you land.”
***
“Did you tell him?” Savin asked as Jazz stepped out into the living room. He looked up from his laptop, noticing the quiet lines forming on Jazz’s brow and the unasked question on his lips. “C’mon, like I didn’t figure out why you were so anxious about this trip, tomorrow…”
Jazz snorted at that and shook his head, stepping around Savin’s armchair and settling into his corner of the couch. He tucked his legs underneath him and picked a book up from the small end table beside the couch, which Savin’s chair was perpendicular to. “I have no idea what you’re talking about…” he murmured, flipping through the pages as though to find his place.
“Jazz,” Savin said, an odd note to his voice. “You think you’ve found where he lives, right?” he continued, closing his screen and setting the compact computer aside. He leaned against the arm of his chair closest to the couch, his eyes never leaving Jazz’s face.
“I --” Jazz’s face turned pink and his eyes wouldn’t meet Savin’s. “Just because I think I know where he is doesn’t mean I’m right -- and even if I am, it doesn’t mean --”
“You’ll get to see him,” Savin finished for him, feeling a soft, understanding smile make its way across his lips as Jazz nodded. Jazz then rested an elbow against the side of the couch, his fingers lifting to thread through his hair and his nails raking over his scalp, his attention intently focused on the text in front of him. His smile fading, Savin pushed himself out of his chair and sat back down beside Jazz.
"You really want to see him, don't you?" Savin whispered, stretching his arm out behind Jazz's shoulders. Even without touching Jazz he could feel the way the other man tensed. "Jazz, it's okay if --"
"I know," Jazz said, cutting Savin off. He looked up from his book and rested it in his lap. He still didn't quite meet Savin's eyes as he spoke. "I just -- I told him I'm going to be there tomorrow, but what if I'm wrong and he's not in Cliffton at all or what if he can't get to where I am before I leave or --"
Savin reached for Jazz's chin, directing Jazz to look at him. Their gazes met, and in the sharp light of the lamp beside them, Savin could see the tears shimmering in Jazz's eyes. "You'll get to see him," he said with every ounce of conviction he had.
Jazz nodded, those tears of his still refusing to fall. He breathed out slowly and closed his eyes, pulling his chin away from Savin's fingers. "And you're -- okay, if he and I...?" The question was left unfinished, though Savin's stomach twisted with it, all the same.
"You love him, don't you?" he asked, his mouth having gone dry. He licked his lips and swallowed, not at all waiting for Jazz to answer. "Jazz, I -- it would be a little naive of me to assume the two of wouldn't -- do that, considering..." He trailed off, unsure of how to approach this.
"I guess so, but --" Jazz cleared his throat. "If you -- told me you didn't want me to, I'd -- he'd -- we'd understand. I'm your boyfriend, not his, you know? And --"
"Just because you don't refer to him as your boyfriend doesn't mean the two of you aren't partners, Jazz," Savin said, unable to hide the dryness in his tone. He kept his arm behind Jazz and looked away from him, looking out over the mantel above Jazz's ornamental fireplace. There were a couple of framed pictures displayed on it, all of them various pictures of Jazz and Savin together. He turned back to Jazz and flashed him a brief smile. "I've accepted that a long time ago -- you two talk every day, you work each other up every day..." He snickered as Jazz's face turned pink, once again. "How is it any different between you and him than it is between me and you?"
"We practically live together and he and I have always been 'just' friends..." Jazz murmured. He leaned against the back of the couch, tugging Savin's arm from the back of the couch to around his shoulders.
"Friends who'd fuck each other into the ground if you could," Savin quipped, which earned him a light-hearted back-handed smack in the chest from Jazz. Jazz's reaction just made him grin, and he leaned in close, pressing his lips to Jazz's neck. "Am I wrong...?"
"No," Jazz grumbled, hiding his face with one hand. It did nothing to hide the redness of his ears, however. "But that doesn't mean we're -- 'partners' -- either. Devin and I -- we've never... talked about what we are. We just -- well, okay, we decided we were friends with benefits forever ago, but -- it's never come up again."
"Bring it up while you're there," Savin said without missing a beat. His lips trailed up the edge of Jazz's neck again, and he murmured, "Tell me how it all went when you come back..."
Jazz let out a quiet noise, which could have been a confirmation to Savin's spoken demand or a reaction to Savin's continued teases, Savin couldn't tell. Jazz shivered; his breath grew a little more labored. "Savin," he said, hands gently pushing Savin away. "I still have to pa -- oh god..."
"Packing can wait..."
***
Cliffton was nothing like he had imagined it to be.
Jazz found himself mesmerized by the tall, ornate and futuristic buildings surrounding them. President Piere had also been nothing like he had anticipated, either -- a respectable gentleman in his forties -- not at all the harsh dictator Jazz had imagined after their initial talks. He had even taken Jazz and his entourage on a small tour of the capital city -- and a detail stuck out at him, causing his heart to pound in his ears:
A fence. A tall, black fence that stretched on for miles in both directions.
He couldn’t count the number of times Devin had talked about a fence. How Devin’s roommate Wes would hop it just to go back home and see his family in the Republic. So when he found the opportunity to do so, Jazz took several pictures of the area surrounding him with his phone and sent them to Devin. Confirmation. He needed confirmation.
Showed Wes your pictures, dude, Devin sent him several hours later. Says he knows where you are and that it’s not far from his family’s place. Want me to meet you at the fence?
Don’t come tonight, Jazz sent back, his heart in his throat. As much as he hated typing the words, he knew it was better to wait. I want to be able to actually spend time with you. Are you free tomorrow night?
Already cleared my schedule. Got work tomorrow, but I can grab my shit and meet up with you after.
That works for me. I can’t wait. <3.
And so his meetings dragged, the discussions too long and convoluted despite Jazz being the one to initiate them in the first place. But the newest treaty was signed; ceremony was had, and Jazz watched the clock inch closer and closer to Devin’s scheduled arrival. At fifteen minutes out, he slipped on a pair of shoes, grabbed his phone, and took his head guard, Amelia, with him to the fence -- following Devin’s directions all the while.
His heart knocked against his ribs as he leaned back against a tree, the walk only taking him ten minutes and Amelia hanging back, watching from the shadows. The hotel loomed somewhere off in the distance, and Jazz wiped his palms on his jeans. Just a few more minutes, and --
Tears stung his eyes and his breath caught in his throat when he saw him. Years. They had waited years for this and neither one of them could find their voices for a minute, Devin now just inches away from Jazz with a bookbag slung over one shoulder, the sleeves to his button-down rolled up with the collar undone.
It was Jazz who broke it first, reaching out for Devin with one hand and pulling him close, standing on his toes to bring his lips to Devin’s. Devin met him partway, returning the kiss without hesitance, his hands on Jazz’s hips.
He didn’t want to move. But they had to -- he had planned this whole night. A trip to a nearby restaurant. Walking the city together and exploring it. Time spent in the hotel room, alone, making good on all of the “threats” they’ve made over the years.
So when Jazz pulled away from him, he took Devin’s hand and he guided him back to his hotel. Amelia kept her distance, a silent and unobtrusive eye. Jazz dragged Devin all over the city, took pictures of them both and sent them to Savin, pulled Devin into private corners out of sight of others just to feel him up close.
It was two in the morning when Jazz glanced up at Devin, one arm draped lazily over Devin’s stomach while his head rested against the junction of shoulder and torso, and whispered the words, “I love you.”
He’d never said them before.
Devin tensed underneath him, his fingers no longer drifting along the planes of Jazz’s back. Even in the dimmed lighting of the room, Jazz could see how his eyes widened; how his throat constricted. “You sure?” he asked, the disbelief obvious in his voice.
Jazz let out a quiet snort at that and pushed himself up with one arm, leaning forward to brush his lips against Devin’s. “Yes, I’m sure,” he said. “I don’t expect you to say it back or anything, I just -- I wanted you to know.”
Devin nodded, his long hair falling to cover part of his face. As he brushed it aside, his amber eyes locked on Jazz’s, heat radiating from him as he said, “Never thought -- didn’t think you’d…” He cleared his throat and turned his eyes back to the ceiling. “You, too,” he eventually managed. Shifting his weight so that he faced Jazz once again, a wry smile on his lips. “Guess that means we’re not ‘just’ friends who fuck, huh?”
That time Jazz laughed, the sound of it widening Devin’s smile to a grin. “Guess we’re not,” Jazz said, and he leaned forward, bringing his lips to Devin’s. He cupped the side of Devin’s face and allowed the kiss to deepen slowly, getting carried away once again in the body underneath his as hands moved along every inch of bare skin.
Partners, they later decided once they had finished, breathless and covered in sweat. Partners, just like Savin told him they were.
He liked the sound of that.
***
Less than twenty-four hours later, Jazz found himself stepping back inside his private apartment and flipping on the lights. He dragged his suitcase behind him, tossing it beside the couch as he tugged at the knot of his tie and pulled it loose. As he passed the mantel he stopped, his brow furrowing as he noticed the folded piece of paper sitting beside a picture frame.
It took him a moment to recognize the picture in the frame -- him and Devin, arm in arm, the both of them grinning from ear to ear. He’d made Devin take it, since his arms were longer and allowed for a better angle. It was placed right beside a similar picture of him and Savin -- in the same frame, he realized after a moment, his fingers plucking the note off the ledge.
Now you have matching pictures of both of your partners, the note read in Savin’s cramped script. Love you. I’ll be home in the morning.
Jazz drifted his fingers down the length of both photographs, Savin’s note replaying in his mind. Partners. Plural.
He couldn’t be any luckier.