Page 39 of We Were Never Lovers
Then he was in front of Sean, his naked body catching the street light, and before Sean could draw breath, Jack was leaning down and kissing him, his hands coming around Sean’s head to cradle his skull as his tongue pushed into Sean’s mouth.
Sean gasped and tried to pull back. Jack groaned and moved more urgently. Sean couldn’t help responding; he returned the kiss with an intensity that shocked him.
Jack’s hands were on his shirt, unbuttoning him with clumsy fingers. He got halfway down before abandoning it and going for Sean’s pants.
Sean pulled back. “What’re you—”
“Please,” Jack said with that same desperate edge to his voice. He didn’t wait for an answer—he shoved Sean’s pants down and dropped to his knees.
Sean sucked in a breath. It was dark but with the street light and his eyes adjusted, he could see just fine—the muscled lines of Jack, naked at his feet. As Sean’s cock bobbed in front of his face, Jack wrapped his lips around him, sucked him down, eager from the booze, expert in the way he’d been before.
Sean was balancing precariously on his good leg, his armpits digging into his crutches and he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t fall.
“Bed,” he gasped out. “Bed.”
Jack released him and stood. For how drunk he was, he took exceptional care to get Sean onto his bed, get his shoes off, lay him out with his shirt still on, top half exposed and hanging off one shoulder. As Jack slid alongside his good side, Sean knew there was still time to stop this. But Jack met his eyes, searching for him again through the drunken haze, and Sean leaned up to kiss him so he didn’t have to look at that anymore.
Jack kissed him back like he he’d been waiting a lifetime to do it. He kissed him with a familiarity and force Sean could do nothing but answer, feeling that same intensity residing somewhere deep inside himself.
“I wanna,” Jack broke away and panted, his lips lingering, brushing Sean’s, “I wanna make you feel good,” he breathed against Sean’s lips.
Sean slipped his hand behind Jack’s head, gripped the strands of hair in a loose fist and pushed him down. Jack went.
When Jack took him back into his mouth, Sean bucked up into it with a groan. Jack pushed against Sean’s grip, testing him. Sean tightened his hold and Jack made a broken sound, muffled around the erection in his mouth.
“Shit, Jack,” Sean panted. The wet sounds of Jack’s mouth competed with the harsh pants from his nose, the rustle of the bedspread where he rolled his hips down.
Words swam into Sean’s mind, filthy words, demands and orders. He gasped as Jack swallowed around him, pressed his face against Sean’s groin. Sean held him there, turned on beyond his wildest fantasies at the feeling and the things he wanted to say—to tell Jack to take it, tell him he was a good boy, tell him he was made for this, made for sucking Sean’s dick.
“Fuck, I’m gonna,” he pushed up and held Jack there in the same breath as he started to come.
Jack moaned, long and reedy around him as he swallowed. Sean reached down and wrapped his hand around Jack’s throat, felt the muscles contracting and releasing. He squeezed and Jack whimpered, the sound smothered as he swallowed, his hips pumping faster. Sean panted and watched as he stuttered, his glutes bunching and releasing as his hips ground into the bedspread.
Sean watched the top of Jack’s head as he caught his breath, his hand caressed him as Jack pulled back slightly, his breaths still harsh as he lingered around Sean softening in his mouth. Sean wriggled, oversensitive, and Jack pulled off, sucked in a pull of air. He slumped against Sean’s hip, wrapping his arm around his waist. He must’ve been laying in a wet patch but didn’t seem inclined to move. Sean ran his fingers through his hair.
He wanted to ask about the words he’d held back, ask Jack if that’s what he meant about them doing it a certain way. He wanted to ask if Jack was okay, if he’d hurt him. He wanted to pull Jack up beside him and hold him, to make sure he was okay.
But what came out was, “I should probably go to bed.”
Jack tightened his grip; the movement felt more sober than he’d been all night. He rested his chin on Sean’s hip and lookedup. Sean watched him. Their breaths were still audible, the glow from the lights outside lightening Jack’s face.
You usually…
Hold you.
“C’mere,” he said, voice horribly unsure, but Jack shuffled up the bed, slid his big body alongside Sean’s, slipped his arm over his chest and tucked his head under Sean’s armpit. He kissed the skin of Sean’s ribcage.
Sean dragged his arm down to pull him closer. It felt surreal, holding Jack Reaver in bed after Jack had sucked him off for the second time. He tried to lean down for the sheet and Jack tightened his hold like he was scared Sean was going to leave.
“Just tryin’ to get the sheet.” It was still hot, cooler in the house than outside, the kind of night when all you needed was a sheet.
Jack reached down for it and pulled it over them, pushing closer once they were covered, slinging a leg over Sean’s waist, his other leg a firm line pressed into Sean’s good side.
Sean felt pinned, but as he urged Jack closer with his arm and Jack sighed into it and clung, he felt settled. Jack’s breaths went even and deep and Sean watched the ceiling and thought that was pretty intense for fuck buddies. But he supposed he’d always been intense about Jack. He’d hated him with an intensity he’d never hated anyone after it all went to shit at the footy carnival; and he’d had good reason to hate a lot of people growing up black, had known racism, casual and explicit, as early as he’d known his own name, but he’d hated Jack far more than the people who’d refused to meet his eyes, the people who’d called him an ape and a black cunt. Those people didn’t matter, but Jack had. And now that intensity seemed to translate into the way they fucked. There was something cruel in the way they were doing it. Or at least, the possibility for it. And Jack seemed to love it. And Sean couldn’t deny that he loved it too. Creeping to the edge of viciousness, but never toppling over. But it felt likea lot more than fucking between buddies; it felt like they were trying to work something out, to say something. He just wasn’t sure what it was.
His hand ran up and down Jack’s back under the sheet. He’d never done this before—slept with someone in their bed after. There was an intimacy and trust to it he liked, but also didn’t understand. Not with Jack.
Lola padded in like she’d been wondering where he was. She saw him in the dark and jumped onto the bed, turned in a circle a few times before settling on his other side and going straight to sleep, like she’d done it a thousand times before, like this was the place she normally slept and things were finally making sense.
