1
Though they’ve only been together for a short time, Jay-Cee knows that every now and then Chris starts to feel like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like he’s waiting for Jay-Cee to come to his senses and tell him to leave. And, being the emotionally stunted WASP he is, he deals with it by pulling away first, by getting irritable, and flirting with everyone around him. As if he’s trying to prove to himself, and Jay-Cee by extension, that he has options, that he won’t end up alone. That he’ll be okay if (when) Jay-Cee kicks him out.
Now is one of those times.
In Jay-Cee’s defense, it has been a really busy few weeks. Two of Jay-Cee’s latest statues somehow got booked into two different shows at the same time due to a paperwork mix-up. So Jay-Cee and his assistant Benny are dealing with untangling that mess. It might require borrowing some of his pieces back from private collectors, but they can probably do that.
Meanwhile, Chris has taken over managing the permanent exhibit of Veterans’ Art in the University. They’d started it only a few months ago, in conjunction with the art department and the Student Veterans Organization. Plus Chris is deep in his own paintings now. Jay-Cee hasn’t even seen what he’s working on. But it keeps him busy late into the night. And to make matters even worse, he’d managed to twist his knee badly during one of lunchtime their one-on-one basketball games. The injury is making him extra cranky with pain and embarrassment.
So with all that, it just happens that more nights than not, they do end up sleeping apart from each other. Jay-Cee deals with paperwork and vendors and suppliers late into the night. Chris grabs broken sleep on the couch with his knee propped up on a pillow. It’s not Jay-Cee’s favorite circumstances, but life’s like that sometimes.
Jay-Cee realizes his mistake the third morning in a row that Chris gets himself a cup of coffee without bringing one for Jay-Cee. He smells coffee when Chris passes behind him and automatically reaches for his mug without looking away from the laptop screen. Encountering nothing but empty space, he turns, puzzled, just in time to see Chris leave in a swish of defensiveness. Fuck.
Jay-Cee thinks back over the last few days and catalogs all the small signals Chris had been putting out that he’d missed and he curses at himself again. Damn it. He’d been so wrapped up in paperwork, that he hadn’t even noticed Chris battling with more than physical injuries. Chris has no problems asking for what he wants when he’s feeling mildly needy or tired. But when his brain starts going to darker places when the past starts to haunt him, he withdraws, and Jay-Cee has to work carefully and delicately to coax him out. It can’t be forced or rushed.
Chris is a true artist, sensitive and brilliant, he feels everything deeply. He counts on Jay-Cee to ground him, to steady him and help him find a way to let everything go. Jay-Cee needs Chris to keep him connect to the world, to help him embrace emotions rather than hide from them. Twenty years older and scarred from his career as an Army Ranger, Jay-Cee had become as frozen as the bronze statues he crafted before Chris had exploded into his life in a blaze of sunshine and heat and love.
He will protect and nurture that gift with this life.
He drums his fingers against the laptop and thinks. He can fix this.
Two hours, a few phone calls, and some Google searches later Jay-Cee has a plan. Jay-Cee hands Benny the keys to the studio, gives him carte blanche to handling anything the best way he sees fit, tells Benny everything he knows about the shows and instructs him to let the galleries know he is unavailable for anything less than a major act of God for the next few days. While Chris is distracted, Jay-Cee packs an overnight bag for both of them.
He walks into the living room where Chris sprawls across the couch watching Mythbusters. The small collection of dirty cups and plates on the floor by the couch and coffee table are just another sign he’d missed that Chris isn’t okay. Normally Chris can’t stand clutter.
Jay-Cee stands between Chris and the TV, blocking his view. Chris looks drawn and tired. The blue dye is almost completely gone from the ends of his golden blonde hair. He is wearing sweatpants and one of Jay-Cee’s old faded West Point t-shirts.
“I can’t see,” Chris complains, stretching to see around Jay-Cee.
Jay-Cee hears something explode on the screen behind him. Adam and Jamie laugh and cheer. The orange light flickers across Chris’s face, highlighting the way Chris is deliberately not looking at Jay-Cee. “I’m done working,” Jay-Cee says.
Now Chris turns his head to look at Jay-Cee, eyebrows raised. “Yeah? Good for you.” Chris sits up, swinging his legs to the floor. Jay-Cee’s watching for it, so he sees the twinge when his foot hits the ground, notices the stiffness in his arms. “So anyway,” Chris continues, “I was thinking of going out tonight. Go dancing, see some old friends. I might stay down in Denver, so don’t wait up.”
Jay-Cee’s heart breaks a little at that. He wants to just grab Chris, press him into the couch, and kiss him until he can’t breathe, push all that insecurity away with the force of his body. But that’s not how this goes. That might have worked two, three days ago. But Chris’s been alone with his thoughts and his demons for too long.
Chris stands up, and Jay-Cee takes a step forward right into his personal space, forcing Chris to either look up at him to make eye contact or keep talking to Jay-Cee’s chin. “You’re not going anywhere, Chris. But we are. We’re going on a trip.” He reaches out, curling his hand around Chris’s hip. Chris’s skin is soft under his fingers as he rubs small circles into Chris’s hip bone with his thumb. He feels the quick shudder Chris can’t suppress and feels his muscles tense as he fights not to just lean into Jay-Cee, rest his head against his chest, and let Jay-Cee hold him up.
Jay-Cee slides his hand up Chris’s back, not hard, not pulling Chris into him the way he craves, just letting Chris feel the warmth of his hand. A tease, a promise for later. Chris exhales sharply, and his breath is hot against Jay-Cee’s collarbone. “Why don’t you go take a shower and get dressed? I’ve already packed for us, and there are clothes for you on the bed.”
Chris looks up at Jay-Cee now, eyes dark, assessing. Jay-Cee is careful to keep his expression soft. Chris still has some residual embarrassment for how much he loves letting Jay-Cee take care of him so completely; for how much he needs it. He still can’t quite let himself believe that by surrendering his needs and desires and placing them in Jay-Cee’s care, he is giving Jay-Cee the most precious gift in the world.
Jay-Cee’s touch on Chris’s back is gentle. Finally, Chris nods, takes a step backward, and reaches for the cane. “Yeah. Okay.”
He steps back just enough to let Chris pass by, afraid to say anything more.
Chris stops at the screen separating the bed from the rest of the studio, resting his weight on the cane and turns, pointing at the dirty plates. “Do you mind taking care of that? It’s a little difficult for me.”
Jay-Cee remembers Chris hobbling from the kitchen, balancing plates and the cane and, yeah, he does owe Chris. “I will. Now shower.”
“Yes, sir.”
He thinks he sees a tiny smile on Chris’s face as he turns away.
Jay-Cee waits until Chris is behind the screen before he lets himself sag, exhaling loudly in the room. It’s tricky with Chris when he gets in these moods. So easy to go too far one way or the other. But he thinks that went well. He picks up the mugs and plates and nods. Yeah, that was good. Time for the next step.
He hears Chris humming as he quietly sneaks into the bathroom. Steam fills the space, and the pounding of the spray masks his footsteps. He watches the fuzzy outline of Chris’s body through the foggy glass as he takes off his clothes. Chris turns his back to the spray, eyes closed at the feeling of hot water over shoulder sore from hours of painting. Jay-Cee opens the shower door and slips in. Chris doesn’t even open his eyes as Jay-Cee slides an arm around his waist. “Couldn’t wait?”
“The shower is too big for only one person.”
Chris barks a laugh even as Jay-Cee is turning him around and crowding him to the wall. “Wow. That’s lame even for you, old man. I should kick you out just for that.” He slaps his hands on the tiles as Jay-Cee gives him a little shove. “Hey, careful. More accidents happen in the home than anywhere else, you know.”
But there’s definitely a smile in his voice now, so Jay-Cee’s not stopping. He turns on the rainshower head that Chris loves so much. Chris tilts his head up to the soft fall of water. It slicks his blond hair back, beading in his long eyelashes, and cascades down his long, sleek muscles. Jay-Cee grabs the body wash they both like and pours it down the pale skin of Chris’s gorgeous back. “Cold,” Chris says.
“Sorry,” Jay-Cee answers, leaning into kiss Chris’s temple. Chris pushes into it, and Jay-Cee kisses lower on his neck. “Sorry.” Chris just nods, still more tense than Jay-Cee is happy with. He maneuvers them forward until Chris is out from under the rainshower. Water from the front shower head keeps him warm. Jay-Cee sighs as the hot water from the ceiling fixture runs down his back. This shower was worth every dollar he spent on it.
Jay-Cee rubs both hands through the soap, gliding his hand up and down Chris’s back and sides. He runs his thumbs up the muscles on either side of his spine, digs his fingers into the meat of his shoulders and at the base of his neck until Chris groans and relaxes. He pours more soap into his palm and slides right up against Chris’s back. He slips his hands around to Chris’s chest pulling him close so he can feel the erection pressing against his lower back and the top of his ass.
Chris’s breath hitches. “Jay-Cee.”
Jay-Cee can’t tell if it’s a warning or an invitation, but he’s not stopping. His fingers trail lightly across Chris’s chest, skimming over his nipples and tugging gently at the small rings piercing through the sensitive nubs. He drags his hands down Chris’s ribs and back up, pressing his cock harder against Chris’s small, perfect ass until it slips between his cheeks. Jay-Cee twists his hips, rocking into Chris to feel the glorious sensation of wet, soapy skin against his cock. But this isn’t about him, so he leans forward to suck the water off Chris’s neck as his hands slip lower.
Chris inhales and shifts his hands against the wall to help his balance.
“How’s the knee?” Jay-Cee asks.
“Fantastic,” Chris grumbles. “Want to talk about the weather next?”
Jay-Cee laughs softly and slides his hand down between Chris’s legs.
“About fucking time,” Chris mutters under his breath. He’s half hard already, and Jay-Cee just holds him gently, cupping his hand around his cock, and placing soft kisses wherever he can reach. Sorry, he mouths against his skin. Sorry. Chris’s hips push forward into Jay-Cee’s hand and back against him. Chris’s not all the way out of the cage of his mind, but the door is open.
“I miss you,” Jay-Cee says, sliding down Chris’s body, going to his knees on the shower floor. His lips slide over the water cascading down Chris’s hip, and he follows the flow over the curve of his perfect ass. “Miss you,” he repeats, trailing a finger down the valley between the cheeks. He pushes in, slippery with soap, just feeling for Chris’s opening.
Chris exhales hard through his nose. “Yeah?” he asks, voice rough. “Well, I’ve been on the couch or in my painting studio all week. Pretty easy to find.”
Jay-Cee doesn’t answer, can’t answer. Chris is right. He grabs a cheek in each hand and pulls gently. Chris arches into it, and Jay-Cee pushes his mouth in, tongue ghosting over the warm wet flesh, flicking at the tight muscle. It’s an apology, a confession. He pushes hard, and Chris shudders. It’s language of the body, of actions, that speaks louder than words ever could. They have both had too much experience with broken promises and empty words. It’s much harder to lie with your body.
Jay-Cee pushes deeper, feeling the strain in the tendons of his neck, the length of his tongue. He’s desperate for the way Chris’s body moves under his hands, beneath his mouth. A few more hot licks around and Chris is panting.
“Come on,” he urges, pushing back against Jay-Cee probing tongue. “Stop teasing.”
But the trembling in Chris’s thighs is partly due to arousal, part of it is from pain. Given his past history with addiction, Chris won’t take anything stronger than over-the-counter pain killers, and they wear off quickly
Jay-Cee pulls off and rests his forehead on Chris’s hip, breathing heavily. His cock feels good, hanging hard and heavy between his legs. He stands up, wrapping his arms around Chris from behind, so that he can take some of Chris’s weight, and shuts off the shower. “Come on. Time to get out.”
Chris tries to pull away, twisting in Jay-Cee’s grip. “Really? Just going to be a tease?”
Jay-Cee lets Chris turn in his grasp until they are face to face. He kisses Chris deep and slowly. His erection slides against Chris’s stomach, and it feels so good. Chris’s lips soft and resilient under his teeth, his body slender and sleek under his hands. God, he missed this, he needs it as much as Chris. Thank God one of them has some sense. Maybe one day it will be him.
He walks them both out of the shower, wraps Chris in the biggest towel they have and then leads him to the bed. Despite Chris’s grumbling, he pulls Chris’s arm around his shoulders and keeps an arm around Chris’s waist, taking as much of his weight off the bad knee as he can.
When Chris moved into Jay-Cee’s loft, he’d brought his Chris’s king-sized canopy bed with him. The bed is like an ever a deeper oasis within their private space. The gauzy curtains dim the stark daytime light, and the air is still and warm with the heat and scent of their bodies. In here, the whole world falls away, and they are reduced to bodies and desires with no judgment and no fear. Simply the act of climbing into it shifts their headspace.
Chris closes his eyes and sighs as he sinks down into the plush mattress. His breathes shallowly, cock softened with the exertion of the walk. Jay-Cee grabs an extra pillow and gently slides it under Chris’s bad knee, pushing his leg out to the side at the same time. With a hand on Chris’s inner thigh, he pushes Chris’s other leg a little wider. He’s completely exposed.
“Jay-Cee. C’mon. Just fuck me, please.”
Jay-Cee crawls up the bed on his hands and knees, leans over his Chris, and dips down for a deep kiss. “Just let me, okay?” He guides Chris’s arms up, placing his hands on the smooth wooden rails of the headboard and wraps the fingers around it. “Don’t let go. Let go, and I’ll stop.” Please don’t let go, he thinks. He presses a kiss to the rose tattoo on the inside of Chris’s wrist. It’s the only one he has, and it matches the one over Jay-Cee’s heart. A quote in French from The Little Prince circles the tattoo. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. That responsibility goes both ways.
Closing his eyes and hoping he’s getting this right, he lowers down, mindful of Chris’s injuries, until they’re pressed together chest to groin, Jay-Cee resting between Chris’s thighs. He loves the look of his olive skin with his full sleeves of tattoos against Chris’s flawless pale skin
Their breath mingles as they both sigh. Jay-Cee braces himself on one elbow and cradles Chris’s face in his hand, moving him into the perfect angle to fit their lips together. When they touch, everything else falls away. It’s perfect: the pressure, the slickness and the catch of Chris’s gorgeous mouth. They kiss, all lips and tongue and nips until time stretches like taffy, slow and sweet. Jay-Cee comes back to himself with the feeling of Chris’s hand on his head, fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently but firmly in rhythm with the rolling of their hips and the slip-slide of their cocks against each other.
Chris pulls sharply, yanking Jay-Cee’s head back with a wicked groan, and Jay-Cee’s orgasm is suddenly right there, punching low in his abdomen. It feels like every cell in his body wails the loss as he pushes up and away from Chris’s body before he can come. Resting his forehead against Chris’s, he pants, trembling, trying to slow the thundering of his heart. “Chris,” he croaks, pulling Chris’s hand off his head. He slides his hand down to Chris’s, palm to palm, and squeezes. Chris squeezes back, and Jay-Cee pulls away far enough to look Chris in the eye. Pupils blown black, Chris looks as wrecked as Jay-Cee feels. He exhales a ragged laugh and pulls Chris’s arm back up to the headboard. “Yeah?” he asks.
Chris meets his eyes, lifts his head, trying to recapture Jay-Cee’s lips. Jay-Cee sways back, and Chris grunts a protest. He presses down on Chris’s hand where it rests against the headboard. “You want to stop?” Jay-Cee’s body trembles against the pull of Chris’s skin. He wants desperately to sink down onto Chris, would fight demons to feel that skin against his, but it has to be Jay-Cee’s way. Chris can’t be in charge of this. For his own sake, for both their sakes.
Chris twists underneath him, dripping cock painting a wet line across Jay-Cee’s thigh, and Jay-Cee’s hand convulses around Chris’s, the muscle in his jaw clenching. Fucking hell. Jay-Cee’s cock dripping down on to Chris’s stomach, and he closes his eyes. Chris shudders and slides his hand from underneath Jay-Cee’s, turning it palm down to grip the headboard again. His eyes are closed, and his chest is heaving. “Please. God, please Jay-Cee.” The words are dragged out of his throat.
Jay-Cee exhales, panting with relief. If Chris had fought him, had ordered him, Jay-Cee would have stopped. He would have had to. But, God, it would have hurt, would have been two steps back. He drops his head down to Chris’s neck, tasting the salty sweat and the clean skin underneath. He sucks and bites, dragging his tongue across the faint stubble until he gets the skin right at the curve of Chris’s jaw between his teeth. He sucks hard, drawing the blood to the surface, marking Chris where no shirt or jacket can hide it. His own breathing is ragged in his ears, hot breath flowing down Chris’s neck. Chris’s curses and pleas are constant now, and Jay-Cee can feel the muscles of his arms like iron from the tightness of his grip on the bed.
“Oh fuck, Please. Come on, Jay-Cee. Please.” He rolls his hips back and forth, brushing their cocks together; Jay-Cee’s hanging down hard and heavy, Chris’s arching up from his body.
Jay-Cee whimpers. It feels too good. He knows he had a plan here, a reason to drag this out, but he’ll be damned again if he can remember it.
“Jay-Cee, you feel so fuckin’ good. Please just touch me. God anything. Let me touch you. My mouth, please. Just let me taste you.”
Chris cranes his head trying to get his mouth on any part of Jay-Cee he can reach. Those plush lips brush Jay-Cee’s neck, and he groans, pulled to Chris’s incredible mouth. There’s nothing like coordination or finesse left as he just drags his lips over Chris’s. They rub open mouths together, and Jay-Cee feels Chris dig his heels into the bed and thrust up.
A lightning flash of pleasure shoots through Jay-Cee as Chris’s body presses hard against his dripping cock. He wrenches his head up and shouts Chris’s name, legs finally giving out. As he crashes down, Chris wraps his legs around Jay-Cee, locking his ankles around Jay-Cee’s calves and just ruts fast and hard against Jay-Cee.
It’s all over then, whatever grand plan Jay-Cee had is shattered by the feel of Chris’s hot length against his. A few wordless thrusts and they are both coming, pulsing against each other, no way to tell who came first, no reason to care.
And it’s almost perfect. Almost.
They lay there, pressed together, every twitch of the other bringing a shudder until their breathing evens out and the press of skin on skin becomes too much. With a groan, Jay-Cee rolls off Chris, wrinkling his nose at the pull of drying come on his skin. Chris peels his hands from the headboard, flexing his fingers. “Jesus Christ, Jay-Cee. Fuck.”
Jay-Cee nods. Tries to speak but nothing comes out. Tries again. “Yeah. Good.”
Chris laughs. “Well-spoken, Major.” He pushes himself up a little on the bed, resting his back on the headboard and dragging Jay-Cee against his chest. Jay-Cee goes, pretty much unable to move much on his own just yet, and turns his face into Chris’s neck. Chris huffs as he slides the pillow back under his knee.
Jay-Cee swirls a finger through the glaze on Chris’s stomach, gathering up their shared release. He feels Chris’s eyes on him as he brings his finger to his mouth, tasting.
“I thought you were going to tease me all night and I was going to have to finish myself off.” Chris is reaching for a light tone, but Jay-Cee hears something off underneath it, especially given how hard he just came. He looks up at Chris, searching for the tells Chris can’t hide. There’s just a hint of tension in the shadows and wrinkles at the corner of his eyes.
Jay-Cee curses silently. He was so close. He almost had Chris where he needed to be. But now he’ll have to start again. Jay-Cee needs Chris to give up even that little bit of control he claimed at the end. Has to move Chris past the demands, past even the begging, get him to a point where he will just be, where he trusts Jay-Cee completely to make him feel good. He has to prove to Chris, in the only way Chris will believe, that Jay-Cee’s first priority is always going to be taking care of Chris. Taking care of him the way he needs but can never bring himself to ask for directly.
Jay-Cee needs to take care of Chris just as much. It’s the only thing that touches the debt he owes Chris. Chris brought love and color and light back into Jay-Cee’s world. Jay-Cee can be strong for him. All he wants to do now is roll over and sleep pressed against Chris, feel the rise and fall of his chest. But that’s not what Chris needs.
The sound of the flat of his hand smacking onto Chris’s stomach is loud in the quiet room. When Chris turns wide eyes on him, Jay-Cee keeps his face still, voice low. “We both need another shower. Separately,” he continues as Chris opens his mouth, a smart ass remark clearly visible in the quirk of his lips. “Then put on the clothes I laid out. We’ve got a plane to catch.” He rolls off the bed, not looking back so he won’t be tempted to crawl in with Chris.
Twenty minutes later, Chris is dressed and waiting for Jay-Cee. He tosses their bags in the back of the SUV. Jay-Cee smiles, presses himself against Chris for a long, deep kiss. “Get in,” he says, breaking the kiss.
“Where are we going?”
“We’re going to Vegas, baby.”