Page 128 of Fish in a Barrel
But Jackson—who had apologized briefly for getting into a fight with a suspect and assured him, in five words or less, that he really would be fine—hadn’t given Ellery time to have a nightmare. First he’d swum laps until it was almost too cold to get out of the pool without the space heater Ellery had provided, and then he’d pushed his dinner around his plate until it gave up and disintegrated, making his plate look slightly less full.
Then he’d given Ellery a perfunctory good-night kiss and lay down on his little sliver of the bed like a prisoner going off to execution.
Ellery had dozed off before the first nightmare hit, but the screams had pretty much put an end to that. Jackson had pretended to drift off in Ellery’s arms after that, but Ellery had felt him get out of bed and come out to the couch. Ellery had thought he’d be playing video games, but instead he’d been lying down, eyes closed, earbuds on, listening to old Green Day albums at top volume.
Ellery had sat with him, waiting for the album to end. Ellery could hear it, even from across the couch, and when he’d checked, Jackson had been mostly asleep, the cats in place, sentinels to dreamland who may or may not succeed.
“Why won’t you let me help you?” he whispered, knowing that it was probably unfair of him to ask. So much progress in the last year. So much change. Jackson was entitled to some space in which to work out the more painful moments in his mind. He’d been up-front about his injuries, had kept to his exercise regimen, and had even cooked dinner, although Ellery couldn’t blame him for not eating. He was trying.
Ellery just wanted to try with him.
In response to Ellery’s quiet words, Jackson murmured Ellery’s name, and Ellery had a sudden, desperate idea.
He moved to the side of the couch, on his knees, and gently disengaged Lucifer, now six months old and the fully sassy nightmare Jackson had anticipated when they’d chosen the sleek black three-legged creature from his cluster of quadrupeded slightly-less-sassy siblings.
“Go steal Billy Bob’s food,” Ellery told him, and Billy Bob, alert to any such shenanigans, uncoiled himself from Jackson’s other ear and leapt over the arm of the couch smoothly to keep an eye on the youngster.
Jackson shivered a little now that he didn’t have his furry ear warmers, and Ellery moved closer, close enough to rub his lips along Jackson’s jaw.
“That hurt?” he murmured.
“No,” Jackson replied. “You should go to sleep.”
“Shut up and kiss me,” Ellery teased, wondering if he was crazy or desperate or just needy. He wanted Jackson’s warm body, wanted his sweetness, his surrender.
If he surrendered, allowed himself to be loved, maybe the nightmares would leave him alone tonight.
Jackson’s mouth seeking his out was nearly as gratifying as what Ellery had planned. Oh, the kiss went on and on, and Jackson’s hands gripping Ellery’s biceps were needy and urgent.
“I’ve got you,” Ellery whispered, pulling away. “I’ve got you.”
He started undressing Jackson there in the living room, pulling off his ragged T-shirt, shucking his sweats. Jackson lay on the couch, staring at him from sleep-muddled eyes.
“I’m naked?” he mumbled. “Is that right?”
Ellery darted in and sucked on his nipple, giving it a little nip before pulling back and hauling his own shirt over his head. “Do you want it to be?”
Jackson had used sex for years to cover up his nightmares, Ellery knew. He’d tried not to do the same thing with Ellery, tried hard to be emotionally whole when they made love, not to come to Ellery’s bed needing raw sex to staunch the bleeding in his soul.
But that’s not what this was.
Ellery wanted to comfort him, but more than that, Ellerywantedhim. Whole, broken, bleeding, healed—Ellery was shameless. If Jackson needed to use Ellery for sex, well, Ellery was there for use.
Or to use Jackson for the same thing.
Because sex between two people who loved each other and wanted the other to feel better was a healing act, and Ellery would take that for what it was.
“Yes,” Jackson moaned, trying to shove up on his elbow. “Yes, I want to be naked, and you to be naked, and—”
Ellery kissed him again until he stopped talking and then kissed down his chest, kissed his nipples, sucked on them, enjoying Jackson’s drunken wriggling as he tried to pull away from sleep, from the dream that had been coming, from the misery he was trying so hard not to share.
Ellery got to Jackson’s cock and took it in, shucking his pajamas at the same time because herockedat multitasking. There they were, naked in the living room, and Ellery was about to try the world’s most awkward rim job, and he didn’t care. He shoved himself between Jackson’s thighs, spreading them with his hands and parting Jackson’s cheeks with his thumbs.
“Ellery?” Jackson mumbled, sounding confused. “What are you doin—whoa!”
Ellery lapped at him, stretching, fingering, stretching more. Jackson’s little moans and cries were almost unbearably arousing, but Ellery was having a little game of mental arithmetic while he serviced his lover’s body. Did he need lube? Was it slick enough? Did he want to go get lube? Would that break the mood? He really didn’t want to break the mood. Why didn’t he think of lube before he started this—oh!
Jackson had rooted around in the side of the couch, found a small bottle from the last time they’d done this here, and was currently shoving it into Ellery’s fingers.
