Breakfast was, by necessity, rather late, which meant Ethan pestered Jack through showering and dressing before ushering him out the door with as much haste as Jack could muster. Horses saddled, they set out into a warming day, Ethan and Smith in the lead, Jack and Jones trailing.

Ethan kept their destination a secret, promising with a smirk that Jack would enjoy it. Jack grumbled because Ethan expected it and after an hour of not getting answers, the grumbling was no longer just for show. The disgruntlement faded, however, when they reached Ethan’s mystery spot.

Lush grass dotted with bright wild flowers carpeted the ground of the clearing. On the far side, a cliff face of dark rock was partially occluded by a sugary curtain of water falling into a nearly perfectly round pool. Under the blue sky visible through a break in the canopy, the water shimmered. The air was cool and free of the mugginess within the jungle.

“Well?” Ethan asked smugly as they dismounted.

Trying to regain some poise, Jack shrugged. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

Which didn’t fool Ethan. Chuckling, he stepped up to Jack, arms slipping around his waist. “Just okay?”

Jack resisted, but it was a pointless effort. He ran his hands through Ethan’s hair, wanting and getting the unconscious response of Ethan pushing into the touch.

“Perfect,” he whispered.

Still keeping contact between his hair and Jack’s hands, Ethan tilted his head quizzically. “Pardon?”

“It’s perfect. The waterfall, the pool, everything.”

“Good. The weather forecast said there shouldn’t be any rain today, so we can spend a couple of hours here before heading back.”

Jack made a show of looking around confusedly. “Gosh, what are we going to do for a couple of hours?”

Stepping back, Ethan thumped him gently in the belly, but laughed as he did so.

It was an entirely enjoyable couple of hours they spent at the waterfall. Swimming and wrestling in the water, rutting together under the spray coming off the cliff face, dozing side by side in the hot sun, sharing their packed lunch with the horses. All of it so peaceful and relaxing Jack fell asleep after lunch, lying on his belly on the grass.

When he woke, Ethan was lying beside him, his fingers tracing the tattoo on his left shoulderblade. Of all the men Jack had been with since he got the tattoo, Ethan was the only one he didn’t mind touching it.

“Do you know Plutarch?”

The soft question roused Jack fully. “Um. Not personally, I don’t think. He’s some ancient Greek guy, right?”

Ethan snorted. “Yes, some ancient Greek guy. He wrote Lives of the Noble Greeks and Romans.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss of the top of Jack’s tattoo. “He had some rather interesting things to say about scars.”

Jack lifted his head to peer at him. “Scars?”

The ever-present sunglasses hid Ethan’s eyes, but the rest of his expression was pensive. He didn’t look at Jack’s face, but instead kept touching the black and silver shadings of the tattoo of the Saint Thomas Cross. “Mm. He said scars were the inscribed images of excellence and manly virtue. They described a life well lived, showing how a man had fought for the things he wanted, and was still alive afterward.”

“Manly virtue? That’s a bit sexist,” Jack mused, even as he wondered at Ethan’s point. He’d learned to just let Ethan talk, knowing he tended to sneak up on the actual topic from odd angles.

“I suppose.” Ethan stroked his hand down Jack’s spine and back up. “He was an ancient Greek guy, after all.”

Just when Jack thought that was the end of the odd little discussion, Ethan added, “Tattoos are modern scars. They’ve come to mean the same thing. They describe our lives, marking those moments when we experienced something profound, and survived.”

A rush of relief mixed with pain flooded through Jack. Relief because Ethan knew exactly what the tattoo meant to him. That it wasn’t just a reminder of his mother, of her life and her faith, but that it was a turning point. A marker for when Jack’s life changed more profoundly than even the loss of a parent could cause. All in one day, he got the tattoo and joined the army. Both actions for his mother, but both becoming entities on their own, apart from her memory. And pain because there was a reason the tattoo was on his back, where he couldn’t see it himself.

After a long moment forcing the ache out of his chest, Jack smirked at Ethan. “What’s this ‘our,’ pretty boy? You don’t have any tats.”

Of course, he couldn’t fool Ethan. The annoyingly perceptive bastard simply pushed close and rested his cheek against Jack’s, his strong fingers splayed across the tattoo, as if he could sooth the old pain with the warmth of his touch.

“No,” he whispered. “I don’t.”

Quite apart from the fact tattoos were easily identifiable marks, Ethan didn’t need them to describe his life.

He had the scars to do that.

After another swim, they packed up their gear and returned to the house. Jack didn’t have a stable-boy kink, yet as they brushed down the horses, he couldn’t take his gaze off Ethan. He watched the smooth ripple of muscles as he stroked the curry comb along Smith’s sleek flank and was captivated by the flex and stretch of his arms and the firm shape of his thighs as he crouched to check the horse’s legs. Jack supposed he could have waited until they were inside the house, but the moment the gates were closed on the stalls, he grabbed Ethan and pushed him back against the wall.

“Jack?” Ethan managed, then let out a low, rumbling growl as Jack sank into a crouch and unfastened his pants.

“Just this,” Jack murmured, freeing Ethan’s dick and giving it a long, hard lick. “For a bit.”

“For a bit” proved true. Jack was too lost in his desire to draw it out. He took Ethan fast and almost brutally, needing the hot, messy end, needing the sounds and sensation of Ethan falling apart all around him. Ethan came fast, hands fisted in Jack’s hair, incoherent sounds tumbling from his lips. His own hard dick in hand, Jack took half a minute longer, face pressed to Ethan’s thigh as he strove for his orgasm, muffling his deep groan in denim when it rolled over him.

Sated, they staggered into the house, cleaned up and while Ethan lounged on a stool at the kitchen counter, Jack made butter chicken. It was the one recipe he’d bothered to learn from his mother, mostly because cooking was a turn on to some guys, and everyone loved butter chicken. Ethan was no exception, devotedly watching Jack as he worked, touching him whenever he got close enough, then devouring two servings.

Having cooked, Jack lay on one of the couches in the library area while Ethan washed the dishes. It was his turn to ogle.

“Any more surprises?” He tilted his head to keep an eye on Ethan’s arse as he bent to fill the dishwasher.

“Nothing like today. Do you feel like a hike?”

Rubbing his full belly, Jack grunted a negative.

“Not now.” Ethan threw a wadded-up tea towel at him. “Tomorrow. The forecast is a bit doubtful, but if it’s clear, we could go.”

“A hike,” Jack grumbled. Nine years of army service kind of destroyed any pleasure to be had hiking. “Do I have to do it with twenty kilos of gear?”

Ethan sauntered over and picked up the tea towel Jack had left on his stomach. “Not unless you wish to.”

Snagging the end of the damp material, Jack tugged on it. “Not particularly.”

“So?” Ethan responded to the tug with one of his own. “There’s a nice trail that goes further up the mountain. I haven’t done it before, but the owner of the house says the view at the end is spectacular.”

“Yeah?” Jack hauled down harder, making Ethan lean back to keep from being pulled over. “Not sure it really compares to the current view.”

Smirking, Ethan asked, “How do you know that? You haven’t seen the other one yet.”

“No, but I’m very partial to this one.” And he gave up playing, twisting his hand in the tea towel and yanking Ethan down on top of him.

Ethan landed with a surprised grunt, bracing himself on the leather couch so he didn’t crush Jack. He squirmed into a better position and his eyebrows shot up. Another wiggle of his hips confirmed it and he shook his head. “Again, Jack?”

“Must be the altitude.”

Of course, it was raining when they got up in the morning. The hike was put aside for a lazy day indoors. There was no TV but Ethan cued up a couple of episodes of Strike Back for them on a laptop. They sat side by side on a couch, sharing a packet of popcorn, the computer on the coffee table before them. At the end of the second episode, Ethan shut the laptop, turned and slung a leg over Jack, settling onto his lap. They’d messed around a little bit in bed that morning, neither of them getting off, just enjoying the physical closeness. After the day before, Jack wasn’t sure he could actually get hard enough to satisfy either of them.

Ethan, however, didn’t seem to be having naughty thoughts. He sat back on Jack’s thighs and absently started massaging his shoulders, his strong fingers working already relaxed muscles into melted goo. Most of the shields were lowered, leaving only the one at the far end of the house open, to let in a bit of natural light, which was nevertheless dimmed by the rain. Ethan had put aside his glasses, leaving Jack ample opportunity to study his long, thick lashes. And to wonder if that suggestion of blue in the white of his irises was really there, or just in Jack’s imagination.

“Jack, may I ask you something?”

“Is that what this is? Butter me up so I’ll answer your questions?”

Ethan smirked. “It appears you have me all puzzled out, Mr. Reardon.”

“Not by half, you crazy bastard. Ask away.”

Fingers digging in a bit harder, Ethan was silent for a couple of moments, then asked, “Now that we’ve stopped using condoms, are we . . . committed?”

All of Ethan’s work on Jack’s shoulders reversed itself in an instant. Tensing up, Jack bit back a curse. He should have been expecting this. The talk. In all reality, they should have had it yesterday morning, before sex. Perhaps they had both been thinking that asking and agreeing had been a convenient short cut. One Ethan was now seconding guessing?

Reflexively, Jack grabbed Ethan’s hips and pulled him a little closer, keeping hold of him, not wanting him to get away. Not resisting, Ethan slid his arms around Jack’s neck and leaned against his chest.

“Does this mean yes?”

Jack hugged him tightly and suddenly the barriers were down. All the hard blocks in his head and throat and heart that had kept these words unspoken were gone, as if they’d never been. “It means yes. It means I’ve been in this thing whole heartedly since March. It means you’re it for me.” There were no sharp edges to the words, nothing that hurt or cut him on the way out. They were smooth and easy and soothing. The relief washed away the tension.

Against him, Ethan relaxed and nuzzled his face into the side of Jack’s neck. “Good.”

Jack chuckled. “Good? That’s all you got for me?”

Ethan lifted his head to look at him. “Do you need more?” he asked softly, almost sadly. “Do you need to hear me say I’ve been in this thing for much longer? That I’ve been waiting for you, hoping, wishing you’d catch up. Or that I’ve been constantly wondering if I was being naïve and stupid to even think you might want to be with me as more than just casual . . . as occasional . . .” His cheeks pinked up, but he bravely kept his gaze locked on Jack as he finished with, “As fuck-buddies.”

Jack wanted to say no, he didn’t need to hear those things because he already knew. Because hearing it aloud would force him to confront just how shitty he’d been over the past six months. Those couple of nights he’d spent with another man had been nothing. A fun but meaningless distraction between visits with Ethan. Before he’d realised that Ethan had lied—again—about them hooking up when they happened to be in the same place at the same time. Like everything else he did, Ethan had meticulously planned every meeting, and had kept doing it despite the fact Jack usually messed them up one way or another.

He meant to say “no” but what came out was “I’m sorry.”

After a long moment, Ethan nodded, though the apology didn’t seem to make him any happier.

“Ethan?” Jack cupped his face gently. “What’s wrong?”

“Me.” With that, Ethan scrambled off Jack’s lap and all but ran to the kitchen. “Do you feel like leftover butter chicken for lunch? We should probably finish it off sooner rather than later. Perhaps on toast. Don’t you say leftovers are always better on toast?”

Feeling like he’d been buffeted by a strong wind, or perhaps the speed of Ethan’s retreat, Jack sat for a nonplussed moment before saying, “Yeah, always better on toast.” Then he got up and followed him. “What do you mean, you’re wrong? You’re right, as usual. I’ve been a complete wanker about everything. And I mean it, Ethan. I am sorry.”

“I know, Jack, and thank you. One or two pieces of toast?” He kept his back turned, fussing with the bread and container of leftovers.

His tone was normal, but the way he moved with sharp, precise motions kept Jack on the far side of the counter. This was one of those moments where he wasn’t sure if proximity would end in a hug, or a punch. Something had triggered Ethan’s compulsion. Something Jack had said or done.

“Ethan, what—”

“Jack.” There was a snap to the word this time, his body tensing and going still.

Jack froze along with him, waiting to see what he would do. After a minute, Ethan turned on his heel and walked out of the kitchen, heading for the door.

“Where are you going?” Jack fought to keep the worry out of his voice.

“To check the horses.”

“Need a hand?”

“No, thank you. Best only one of us gets wet.” At the door, he unlocked it, then paused. “Jack?”

“Yeah?”

Ethan took several deep breaths. “It will be all right. I just need some space.”

Hoping like hell that was all he needed, Jack said, “Okay.”

The door opened, letting in the unfiltered pounding of the rain, and just as quickly was cut off as Ethan slipped out.