Midnight Hour
Title: Midnight Hour
Author: Zenana
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Lost
Pairing: Jack/James
Notes: Thank you thank you to foxxcub for creating this seductive 'verse, and for the beta help and approval. I thought the boys deserved some moments of peace, and more use needed to be made of that hotel room, really.
Set immediately after Delicate, before The Deep End.
Summary: While Jack sleeps, James has time to reflect; when Jack wakes up, James has time to enjoy the present.
Midnight Hour
The digital clock on the table between the beds glows the time in red, 11:58. James feels invigorated, wide awake, though he knows he should try to sleep. Where, he wonders, alone, or with Jack. He feels almost giddy with the choice, drunk on the return of Jack; the weeks of being ignored had been hell, though he didn’t want to admit it mattered as much as it did. Jack is back, James thinks, now, and grins to himself adding, in the sack.
Coach made them go to bed at 9, for Chrissakes, early morning practice before the game, get plenty of sleep, ladies, he told them, sending them off to their rooms. Since he and Jack weren’t speaking then, stupid, they’d gone straight to bed, to separate beds. And even slept, James fitfully, barely, aware of Jack’s nightmare sleep, James knew about nightmare sleeps - shut that door now, slam it quick, hadn’t dreamt anything in years, not since he came to California. The hollowness of the past couple weeks sneaks up, but James punches it away; he can still smell Jack’s sweat, the smell of come, of passion, and James focuses on that, revels in it.
The bed he was in is cold and black in the dark room, those plastic curtains over the windows shutting out all light, except for the glow from that clock, 12:05 now. He sees Jack’s sleeping form in the other bed, and James decides not to go to bed just yet. He pulls the desk chair between the two beds, then looks at the vinyl seat. He returns to the bathroom, grabs a towel, and this time leaves the light on and the door slightly ajar. He drapes the towel over the chair and sits. The shaft of light illuminates Jack, and James realizes he loves watching Jack sleep, breathing evenly, peacefully, the luxury of this moment, the space of a room, not a car, the space of a bed, of two beds, of a whole night, for sex and sleeping, and he feels as if this time, now, midnight hour in a hotel room, is isolated and removed from the world, from school and homes and fathers, an island of space and time where he can let go and just be with Jack.
Jack, deep in a sleep James almost envies, turns, his arm falling open at his side, and the light picks out his tattoo, that strange swirl of clouds and stars that first captivated James all those months ago. He finds himself wanting to touch the tattoo, to stroke it, kiss it, lick it, to wake Jack the way Jack woke him that time - gets hard at the memory of waking up with his dick in Jack’s mouth, the sucking, that hot wetness surrounding him, the complete surrender, Jack’s hands kneading his ass, Jack’s face flushed with desire, hearing the sounds of his pleasure, smelling, tasting, touching him. James is amazed at the endless erections Jack inspires, can’t get enough of him, and he inhales the smell of their sex that lingers in the close room.
This craving still can terrify him but now, this moment he lets the velvety darkness caress him, suspend him above his anxiousness of the past two weeks, of tomorrow or weeks to come, of this strange place he never expected to be. Needing, and even being needed in return.
Jack turns his head in his sleep, and James sees the faint remnants of the bruise and feels a surge of anger as he thinks about Jack’s father, fathers who hit, ridicule, fathers... he quickly shuts that door, doesn’t want to think about fathers. Instead, he thinks about girls, more specifically, about pussy.
About how he used to want it all the time, spent most of his time thinking about when he could get it again, since he got laid that first time when he was 13, that high-school senior down the street in Knoxville, he’d always looked older, older girls always went for him, no effort on his part, girls just seemed to open hands, mouths, legs to engulf his dick and his dick was happy to oblige.
Even this past summer, the summer after what he thought of as That Night. When he went to Shepherd’s house, to see the home of the Golden Boy, brain, jock, money. Knew he’d just been brought in for the weed he could provide, not exactly for the pleasure of his company, but he’d wanted to see the house. And maybe to see Jack Shepherd, too, he wondered later, wondered at the way he seemed aware of Jack from the moment he arrived at the party, counted the drinks he’d downed at the bar (5), noticed the number of times Jack glanced his way (7), the number of girls who flirted with him who he blew off (4), the times he circled the room (4), circling toward him. James hadn’t wanted any weed himself, and neither had Jack, yet. Easier to sell if you’ve no interest in the product; drink was mind-altering enough for him, and barely, at that.
The house was loaded. The booze was high-class stuff, no jugs of Gallo, no generic vodka, name brands he hadn’t even heard of but knew they must be pricey, the bar in the corner of the cavernous room polished cherry wood, shot glasses and tumblers set up like a real bar, furniture leather, carpets Oriental. Lots of girls there too, flowing by him, bumping into him as he made his way to the couch, giving him encouraging smiles. A taste of the other side of the tracks, he’d thought, and no point in ruling anything out, so he responded with aloof-but-encouraging nods, yet all the time aware of Jack, Jack’s presence in the room, glancing at him. James had felt every single glance, knew, somehow, he was going to talk to him, thought it would be to get a joint, finally, but turned out it was for a different smoke, free smoke, and without thinking, James had welcomed the moment of intimacy when Jack finally made it to the couch and started talking, wanted to get away from the noise of the party with him, James, and when James’s heartbeat changed slightly at the invitation, beat faster, louder; he wanted to kick himself because he felt like he had a fucking crush.
It was strange from the start in the bathroom, he’d known even as they entered the room something was up, was different, this was not two guys simply stealing a smoke. There was...anticipation? Awareness of Jack, physically. Only he didn’t know it till after. Banter. Like flirtation, like with the girls. But as soon as Jack had shown him that tattoo, James was instantly, irrevocably hard, hard like he is now, noticing the tattoo again, and then Jack was riding his lap, just as hard, could feel his cock through multiple layers of denim, grinding into him, and James had come so fully and fiercely, in spite of the alcohol, that he had spent the summer screwing every pussy that came his way to obliterate that memory of feeling. Trying to screw away the passion, thoughts of ink in skin, of smoke and stars.
Spent the summer as a gofer boy at the public golf club. Not as ritzy as the country club Jack’s folks probably frequented, but it had its share of doctors and lawyers, and unhappy wives who liked James a lot, and let him know their appreciation of his help with sleek caresses and, occasionally, monetary gifts. Soft juice, slick, gasps, moans, sounds, smells, backs of cars usually. Tried to obliterate that feeling of after, when he realized how low he scored in Jack’s life, when Shepherd asked him his last name. He hadn’t even known it, and James felt then like a diversion, an indulgence, a rebellion, like the girls at the a party, see how the other half lives, fucks, comes, whatever. So he’d trained himself not to look at Jack when he saw him, school was almost over anyway. See what it felt like to be invisible.
Convinced himself it was a drunken aberration, a fluke; the feel of full round tits against him, slim hips, slick pussies he’d had that summer would be sure to erase the feel of a toned, muscled chest against his, the thrill of a hard cock pressed against his own. Back after that misunderstanding with the school, he forced himself to look at Jack when he saw him, convinced he’d see nothing more than the Golden Boy being golden. Had to look, had to know. And so he’d allowed himself to look, then, to meet Jack’s eyes and shit. It was Jack, because as soon as their eyes locked, Jack blushed in a way that went straight to James’s cock. In spite of all those women, and the near daily orgasms, thoughts of Jack turned him on like nothing else. And then Jack went and said stupid things that shouldn’t have mattered, except they did, they cut, but the kiss, that hand job, no more pussy after that, couldn’t now.
“What are you thinking about?”
12:34. Jack’s voice cuts over the hum of the air conditioner.
“Pussy,” James says, and Jack raises his eyebrows, and then throws open the cover to reveal himself, boxers gone, dick straining upward toward James, and James loves this, being open and naked and so turned on by each other.
“And dick,” he adds, licking his lips.
“Dick?”
“Well, yours. And mine. Was thinking about how I don’t seem to be thinking about pussy at all lately. And I used think of nothing else.”
In the sliver of light from the bathroom, James sees Jack reach and touch his cock, stroking it like that time in the locker room. But this time he’s not looking away, closing his eyes, he’s looking at James, challenging him. Jack licks his lips, “Good,” he says, and it comes out as a hoarse whisper.
James is mesmerized by that hand, lightly squeezing Jack’s cock, up the shaft, over the head, drops of precum shining in the light. James begins to mirror Jack’s actions from the chair, hand pulling up the shaft of his cock, thumb sliding over the head, back down. Eyes locked with his, Jack swings his legs to the side and sits up. Still grasping his cock, he walks the few steps to James and kneels before him. With his free hand he lifts James’s straining cock and circles the tip with his tongue and James gasps and thrusts because this feels so fucking good, and seeing his cock disappear into Jack’s mouth is so incredibly arousing. Jack closes his eyes, and murmurs, hums, vibrations sending more sparks through James’s cock, and he yearns to touch Jack too.
He wants Jack’s cock in his own mouth, loves the feel of that flexible hardness against his tongue, the musky scent, the seawater taste, the core of arousal oh fuck Jack’s tongue, circling as he sucks, circling, his hand reaching down, stroking James’s nuts, and he thinks, it’s so good to have so much room, no tight car, back of the bus and again he wants Jack’s cock, reaches, but can’t reach and then he knows exactly what he wants. Sucking and being sucked and oh shit oh even as Jack does a funny little thing with the tip of his tongue that causes a shudder, a tremor, James still says, “Stop,” and Jack pulls off suddenly, eyes looking wary and James pants, “No, I mean, shit it’s so good. So fucking good, Jack. Oh!” He exclaims as Jack’s tongue circles the tip of his cock, lightly, teasingly. “But I want you too. Now. I want to be in the bed with you, and I want to feel your cock in my mouth too. At-”
“At the same time,” Jack breaths, and moves up James’s body, straddles him so cock meets cock, and kisses James fully and fervently on the lips, and James thinks his whole body feels Jack, not just his cock, with pussy it was only about the cock, but here, it was about cocks, yes, and thighs and nipples and stomachs, lips and tongues and cheeks, breath, body parts touching body parts, completely, and he wraps his arms around Jack as they kiss, and lifts him, staggering slightly under his weight, and the challenge of carrying and kissing, and they fall onto the bed and Jack crawls back down the length of him, turning his body so that chests meets legs, and mouths meet cocks. Not the most comfortable position, really, but James’s cock is already back in Jack’s mouth, like he couldn’t wait to get it back there, eagerly sucking, one hand circled around the base, the other stroking James’s side, his buttocks.
The tip of Jack’s cock is by James’s lips; the angle is different, from the top. Easier to tongue the head with his whole tongue flat, and he gets a rewarding moan from Jack when he does that, a moan that vibrates through his cock in a really nice way. James holds Jack’s cock and outlines his mouth, precum coating his lips and he licks them, savoring the salty taste that is Jack, that has become familiar to him in a way he never imagined. “Fuck,” James says as he licks the tip, and then he can’t say anything, for his mouth is full of Jack’s cock. James opens his mouth wide, careful with the teeth, determined to take Jack’s cock in as far as he can. He feels a momentary gag, but wills himself to relax, because it is such a turn-on to feel Jack’s cock penetrating his mouth as Jack sucks James’s own cock deeply.
James tries to match Jack’s rhythm on him, his hips beginning to thrust uncontrollably, when Jack reaches his hand around to his butt cheeks, holds them still, slows James’ thrusting, and then James feels Jack’s hand begin to explore, and a finger stroking close to inside, closer, and then “Mmmoh!” James moans in surprise as Jack fingers his asshole, soft, tender, and sensitive in a way that makes his balls quiver and he suddenly comes with a shattering intensity, and Jack keeps his finger there, pressing down and that just makes it that much more powerful, with Jack’s cock still in his mouth, and the moans come from deep within, somewhere primitive and guttural, and he knows the vibrations feel so fucking good because Jack’s thrusts are erratic now, and then Jack stiffens suddenly, a pause, before wave after wave of come pours into James’s mouth, and Jack’s cock is deeper in, near his throat, James is afraid he might be gagging, and he forces himself to swallow, swallow, swallow, wanting to hold Jack’s cock in his mouth until he goes soft. Feeling his own cock recede, and a shiver of over intensity as Jack gives a gentle swipe with his tongue.
They fall apart, but James shifts around so they are both on pillows, and they face each other, sideways, and he kisses Jack, fingers threading through wavy brown hair, gently, moves his hand down Jack’s side to rest on his hip, and Jack gives a little shiver. James reaches down and pulls a sheet over both of them. Over Jack’s shoulder James sees the clock, 1:01 in red, and he leans forward to kiss the fading bruise on James’s cheek. He rests his head back on the pillow. The lie facing each other, the haze of their passion lingering in their air.
“I want you constantly,” Jack says, his breath mingling with James’s. “All the time.” Their lips brush together, a whisper kiss.
“Yeah,” James agrees, and then there’s nothing more to say, the midnight hour is past, and James feels something new. Contentment in the middle of the night, floating with Jack on the bed like a raft in this private, intimate sea, and James is happy, now.
END
Author: Zenana
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Lost
Pairing: Jack/James
Notes: Thank you thank you to foxxcub for creating this seductive 'verse, and for the beta help and approval. I thought the boys deserved some moments of peace, and more use needed to be made of that hotel room, really.
Set immediately after Delicate, before The Deep End.
Summary: While Jack sleeps, James has time to reflect; when Jack wakes up, James has time to enjoy the present.
Midnight Hour
The digital clock on the table between the beds glows the time in red, 11:58. James feels invigorated, wide awake, though he knows he should try to sleep. Where, he wonders, alone, or with Jack. He feels almost giddy with the choice, drunk on the return of Jack; the weeks of being ignored had been hell, though he didn’t want to admit it mattered as much as it did. Jack is back, James thinks, now, and grins to himself adding, in the sack.
Coach made them go to bed at 9, for Chrissakes, early morning practice before the game, get plenty of sleep, ladies, he told them, sending them off to their rooms. Since he and Jack weren’t speaking then, stupid, they’d gone straight to bed, to separate beds. And even slept, James fitfully, barely, aware of Jack’s nightmare sleep, James knew about nightmare sleeps - shut that door now, slam it quick, hadn’t dreamt anything in years, not since he came to California. The hollowness of the past couple weeks sneaks up, but James punches it away; he can still smell Jack’s sweat, the smell of come, of passion, and James focuses on that, revels in it.
The bed he was in is cold and black in the dark room, those plastic curtains over the windows shutting out all light, except for the glow from that clock, 12:05 now. He sees Jack’s sleeping form in the other bed, and James decides not to go to bed just yet. He pulls the desk chair between the two beds, then looks at the vinyl seat. He returns to the bathroom, grabs a towel, and this time leaves the light on and the door slightly ajar. He drapes the towel over the chair and sits. The shaft of light illuminates Jack, and James realizes he loves watching Jack sleep, breathing evenly, peacefully, the luxury of this moment, the space of a room, not a car, the space of a bed, of two beds, of a whole night, for sex and sleeping, and he feels as if this time, now, midnight hour in a hotel room, is isolated and removed from the world, from school and homes and fathers, an island of space and time where he can let go and just be with Jack.
Jack, deep in a sleep James almost envies, turns, his arm falling open at his side, and the light picks out his tattoo, that strange swirl of clouds and stars that first captivated James all those months ago. He finds himself wanting to touch the tattoo, to stroke it, kiss it, lick it, to wake Jack the way Jack woke him that time - gets hard at the memory of waking up with his dick in Jack’s mouth, the sucking, that hot wetness surrounding him, the complete surrender, Jack’s hands kneading his ass, Jack’s face flushed with desire, hearing the sounds of his pleasure, smelling, tasting, touching him. James is amazed at the endless erections Jack inspires, can’t get enough of him, and he inhales the smell of their sex that lingers in the close room.
This craving still can terrify him but now, this moment he lets the velvety darkness caress him, suspend him above his anxiousness of the past two weeks, of tomorrow or weeks to come, of this strange place he never expected to be. Needing, and even being needed in return.
Jack turns his head in his sleep, and James sees the faint remnants of the bruise and feels a surge of anger as he thinks about Jack’s father, fathers who hit, ridicule, fathers... he quickly shuts that door, doesn’t want to think about fathers. Instead, he thinks about girls, more specifically, about pussy.
About how he used to want it all the time, spent most of his time thinking about when he could get it again, since he got laid that first time when he was 13, that high-school senior down the street in Knoxville, he’d always looked older, older girls always went for him, no effort on his part, girls just seemed to open hands, mouths, legs to engulf his dick and his dick was happy to oblige.
Even this past summer, the summer after what he thought of as That Night. When he went to Shepherd’s house, to see the home of the Golden Boy, brain, jock, money. Knew he’d just been brought in for the weed he could provide, not exactly for the pleasure of his company, but he’d wanted to see the house. And maybe to see Jack Shepherd, too, he wondered later, wondered at the way he seemed aware of Jack from the moment he arrived at the party, counted the drinks he’d downed at the bar (5), noticed the number of times Jack glanced his way (7), the number of girls who flirted with him who he blew off (4), the times he circled the room (4), circling toward him. James hadn’t wanted any weed himself, and neither had Jack, yet. Easier to sell if you’ve no interest in the product; drink was mind-altering enough for him, and barely, at that.
The house was loaded. The booze was high-class stuff, no jugs of Gallo, no generic vodka, name brands he hadn’t even heard of but knew they must be pricey, the bar in the corner of the cavernous room polished cherry wood, shot glasses and tumblers set up like a real bar, furniture leather, carpets Oriental. Lots of girls there too, flowing by him, bumping into him as he made his way to the couch, giving him encouraging smiles. A taste of the other side of the tracks, he’d thought, and no point in ruling anything out, so he responded with aloof-but-encouraging nods, yet all the time aware of Jack, Jack’s presence in the room, glancing at him. James had felt every single glance, knew, somehow, he was going to talk to him, thought it would be to get a joint, finally, but turned out it was for a different smoke, free smoke, and without thinking, James had welcomed the moment of intimacy when Jack finally made it to the couch and started talking, wanted to get away from the noise of the party with him, James, and when James’s heartbeat changed slightly at the invitation, beat faster, louder; he wanted to kick himself because he felt like he had a fucking crush.
It was strange from the start in the bathroom, he’d known even as they entered the room something was up, was different, this was not two guys simply stealing a smoke. There was...anticipation? Awareness of Jack, physically. Only he didn’t know it till after. Banter. Like flirtation, like with the girls. But as soon as Jack had shown him that tattoo, James was instantly, irrevocably hard, hard like he is now, noticing the tattoo again, and then Jack was riding his lap, just as hard, could feel his cock through multiple layers of denim, grinding into him, and James had come so fully and fiercely, in spite of the alcohol, that he had spent the summer screwing every pussy that came his way to obliterate that memory of feeling. Trying to screw away the passion, thoughts of ink in skin, of smoke and stars.
Spent the summer as a gofer boy at the public golf club. Not as ritzy as the country club Jack’s folks probably frequented, but it had its share of doctors and lawyers, and unhappy wives who liked James a lot, and let him know their appreciation of his help with sleek caresses and, occasionally, monetary gifts. Soft juice, slick, gasps, moans, sounds, smells, backs of cars usually. Tried to obliterate that feeling of after, when he realized how low he scored in Jack’s life, when Shepherd asked him his last name. He hadn’t even known it, and James felt then like a diversion, an indulgence, a rebellion, like the girls at the a party, see how the other half lives, fucks, comes, whatever. So he’d trained himself not to look at Jack when he saw him, school was almost over anyway. See what it felt like to be invisible.
Convinced himself it was a drunken aberration, a fluke; the feel of full round tits against him, slim hips, slick pussies he’d had that summer would be sure to erase the feel of a toned, muscled chest against his, the thrill of a hard cock pressed against his own. Back after that misunderstanding with the school, he forced himself to look at Jack when he saw him, convinced he’d see nothing more than the Golden Boy being golden. Had to look, had to know. And so he’d allowed himself to look, then, to meet Jack’s eyes and shit. It was Jack, because as soon as their eyes locked, Jack blushed in a way that went straight to James’s cock. In spite of all those women, and the near daily orgasms, thoughts of Jack turned him on like nothing else. And then Jack went and said stupid things that shouldn’t have mattered, except they did, they cut, but the kiss, that hand job, no more pussy after that, couldn’t now.
“What are you thinking about?”
12:34. Jack’s voice cuts over the hum of the air conditioner.
“Pussy,” James says, and Jack raises his eyebrows, and then throws open the cover to reveal himself, boxers gone, dick straining upward toward James, and James loves this, being open and naked and so turned on by each other.
“And dick,” he adds, licking his lips.
“Dick?”
“Well, yours. And mine. Was thinking about how I don’t seem to be thinking about pussy at all lately. And I used think of nothing else.”
In the sliver of light from the bathroom, James sees Jack reach and touch his cock, stroking it like that time in the locker room. But this time he’s not looking away, closing his eyes, he’s looking at James, challenging him. Jack licks his lips, “Good,” he says, and it comes out as a hoarse whisper.
James is mesmerized by that hand, lightly squeezing Jack’s cock, up the shaft, over the head, drops of precum shining in the light. James begins to mirror Jack’s actions from the chair, hand pulling up the shaft of his cock, thumb sliding over the head, back down. Eyes locked with his, Jack swings his legs to the side and sits up. Still grasping his cock, he walks the few steps to James and kneels before him. With his free hand he lifts James’s straining cock and circles the tip with his tongue and James gasps and thrusts because this feels so fucking good, and seeing his cock disappear into Jack’s mouth is so incredibly arousing. Jack closes his eyes, and murmurs, hums, vibrations sending more sparks through James’s cock, and he yearns to touch Jack too.
He wants Jack’s cock in his own mouth, loves the feel of that flexible hardness against his tongue, the musky scent, the seawater taste, the core of arousal oh fuck Jack’s tongue, circling as he sucks, circling, his hand reaching down, stroking James’s nuts, and he thinks, it’s so good to have so much room, no tight car, back of the bus and again he wants Jack’s cock, reaches, but can’t reach and then he knows exactly what he wants. Sucking and being sucked and oh shit oh even as Jack does a funny little thing with the tip of his tongue that causes a shudder, a tremor, James still says, “Stop,” and Jack pulls off suddenly, eyes looking wary and James pants, “No, I mean, shit it’s so good. So fucking good, Jack. Oh!” He exclaims as Jack’s tongue circles the tip of his cock, lightly, teasingly. “But I want you too. Now. I want to be in the bed with you, and I want to feel your cock in my mouth too. At-”
“At the same time,” Jack breaths, and moves up James’s body, straddles him so cock meets cock, and kisses James fully and fervently on the lips, and James thinks his whole body feels Jack, not just his cock, with pussy it was only about the cock, but here, it was about cocks, yes, and thighs and nipples and stomachs, lips and tongues and cheeks, breath, body parts touching body parts, completely, and he wraps his arms around Jack as they kiss, and lifts him, staggering slightly under his weight, and the challenge of carrying and kissing, and they fall onto the bed and Jack crawls back down the length of him, turning his body so that chests meets legs, and mouths meet cocks. Not the most comfortable position, really, but James’s cock is already back in Jack’s mouth, like he couldn’t wait to get it back there, eagerly sucking, one hand circled around the base, the other stroking James’s side, his buttocks.
The tip of Jack’s cock is by James’s lips; the angle is different, from the top. Easier to tongue the head with his whole tongue flat, and he gets a rewarding moan from Jack when he does that, a moan that vibrates through his cock in a really nice way. James holds Jack’s cock and outlines his mouth, precum coating his lips and he licks them, savoring the salty taste that is Jack, that has become familiar to him in a way he never imagined. “Fuck,” James says as he licks the tip, and then he can’t say anything, for his mouth is full of Jack’s cock. James opens his mouth wide, careful with the teeth, determined to take Jack’s cock in as far as he can. He feels a momentary gag, but wills himself to relax, because it is such a turn-on to feel Jack’s cock penetrating his mouth as Jack sucks James’s own cock deeply.
James tries to match Jack’s rhythm on him, his hips beginning to thrust uncontrollably, when Jack reaches his hand around to his butt cheeks, holds them still, slows James’ thrusting, and then James feels Jack’s hand begin to explore, and a finger stroking close to inside, closer, and then “Mmmoh!” James moans in surprise as Jack fingers his asshole, soft, tender, and sensitive in a way that makes his balls quiver and he suddenly comes with a shattering intensity, and Jack keeps his finger there, pressing down and that just makes it that much more powerful, with Jack’s cock still in his mouth, and the moans come from deep within, somewhere primitive and guttural, and he knows the vibrations feel so fucking good because Jack’s thrusts are erratic now, and then Jack stiffens suddenly, a pause, before wave after wave of come pours into James’s mouth, and Jack’s cock is deeper in, near his throat, James is afraid he might be gagging, and he forces himself to swallow, swallow, swallow, wanting to hold Jack’s cock in his mouth until he goes soft. Feeling his own cock recede, and a shiver of over intensity as Jack gives a gentle swipe with his tongue.
They fall apart, but James shifts around so they are both on pillows, and they face each other, sideways, and he kisses Jack, fingers threading through wavy brown hair, gently, moves his hand down Jack’s side to rest on his hip, and Jack gives a little shiver. James reaches down and pulls a sheet over both of them. Over Jack’s shoulder James sees the clock, 1:01 in red, and he leans forward to kiss the fading bruise on James’s cheek. He rests his head back on the pillow. The lie facing each other, the haze of their passion lingering in their air.
“I want you constantly,” Jack says, his breath mingling with James’s. “All the time.” Their lips brush together, a whisper kiss.
“Yeah,” James agrees, and then there’s nothing more to say, the midnight hour is past, and James feels something new. Contentment in the middle of the night, floating with Jack on the bed like a raft in this private, intimate sea, and James is happy, now.
END