Chapter 18 #2
Max’s housekeeper had prepared a futon in his room and had set out tea on the low table.
Jack bowed and even found the right words to thank her before the woman bustled off again.
His Japanese was functional but limited and he wished he’d practiced more, had added to his vocabulary while he was at home.
He’d made the effort to learn the basics when he’d been here on assignment.
It wasn’t logical to let that effort go to waste.
His tablet chimed as his eyelids grew heavy over his second cup of tea. A Skype session popped up on the screen along with Gareth’s avatar in the chat window.
Since when is Payne in the dirty picture taking business?
Jack snorted tea and answered the call. “He… what?”
The screen came alive and Jack bit back an appreciative whistle.
Gareth wore a clinging, sleeveless hoodie.
Jack’s sleeveless hoodie, at that. The lowered zip showed his collarbones and the hollow of his throat, and Jack swallowed.
He could do with some of that right now.
Only… “What are you talking about? What dirty pictures?”
Gareth didn’t answer. Instead, Jack got a slideshow of himself, practising kata in Max’s gorgeous dojo. Barefoot, bare-chested, in nothing but deep green hakama pants.
Yeah, that would do it. Man had a thing about Jack in bare feet.
“Do you have any idea how much I want to rip those fucking pants off you?”
Gareth’s voice had a growly, frustrated edge that Jack could relate to. His libido was sitting up and taking notice, too. “I didn’t know hakama turned you on,” he teased regardless. “I should maybe wear them around the house. And Skylar didn’t send those. He’s still in Tokyo.”
“And you’re not?”
“No.”
“You’ve a security issue?”
“Nah. Just Min’s revenge for me flirting with Akane.”
Gareth’s eyes narrowed. “Who’s Akane?”
“Min’s fiancé. It bugs him that I’ve known her longer than he has.”
“Her? She’s a spook?”
“Nah. SysSec like me and a damned efficient hacker. She’s the friend I mentioned. We worked together when I was out here on assignment. You’d like her.”
“Hm.”
Jack frowned. He’d expected his lover to be more eloquent than that, but all he got was a strange vibe, half want, half frustration.
They teased each other, but they’d never had phone sex, or sex over Skype, so Jack couldn’t tell whether that was Gareth’s problem or whether something else was wrong.
He grabbed his tablet and slid his legs out from under the low table.
“I’m gonna crash,” he said nonchalantly.
“At ten in the morning?”
“Yeah, well… we had some interesting times.” Jack tossed the tablet onto the pillow and stripped the deep green pants off, keeping well in sight of the camera.
“When it rains over here, it really rains,” he said as he stretched out on the futon, turning on his side to face the small screen.
“I’ve never seen so much water. Like driving through a sheet of glass. And pitch black.”
“Why were you even out in that?”
“Long story. Not for general consumption.” Jack grinned at the gorgeous man on his screen. “So you like my hakama.”
“I don’t. I told you I wanted them off you, didn’t I?”
“Well, they’re off now…”
“Don’t tease. That’s just evil.”
“Who says I was teasing?” Jack reached for the screen, intending to tilt it, so Gareth got the best possible view.
Then it clicked.
Gareth’s growl. The way he half-whispered his words. “You’ve got a houseful of kids, haven’t you?”
“I’m in a fucking tent!”
“What?”
“You heard.”
“How? No, fuck how. Why?”
“We’re camping. Conrad’s idea.”
“Of course.” Jack could see that he needed to have words with Aidan.
Though how the lawyer could know that Min would send pictures of a barefoot Jack to Gareth’s phone…
Still, his current case of blue balls, and Gareth’s, if he interpreted the matter correctly, was to be laid at Aidan’s door. And Jack would make him pay for that.
Contemplating pictures of Jack in nothing but deep green hakama didn’t calm Gareth’s libido. But he couldn’t help himself. Whoever had taken the photos—and it was clearly someone Jack had trusted with Gareth’s secure mobile number at some point—was a dab hand with a camera.
Gareth swiped back and forth through the small collection of images of Jack holding a bokken over his head, readying for a strike. Jack straight, tall, and at peace, bokken at his side. Jack airborne, mid-kick or spin.
Block, strike, calm, attack, and retreat—Gareth felt as if he were watching Jack perform a serene, deadly dance.
The sequence was hypnotic, and Gareth knew what he wanted to do with the photos the moment he returned home.
With other parts of the house drawing his attention, he hadn’t yet spent much time or effort on personalising his office.
The wall opposite his desk, for example, was entirely bare—but it wouldn’t stay that way for much longer.
Gareth could see it in his mind: Jack dancing across his wall, framed by ivory parchment and narrow strips of reddish-brown cedar.
Whoever Min was, Gareth owed him.
He interrupted his scrolling, made a quick call and asked for the politest way to express his gratitude in Japanese. A line of script winked from his inbox not long after, and Gareth copied the unfamiliar characters one by one and pasted them into a return message.
He felt very much obliged, indeed.
Gareth could be as single-minded as Jack when he had a goal—or when he was too keyed-up to sleep.
He didn’t possess anywhere near Jack’s computer skills, but online shopping—even from his phone—wasn’t beyond him, and he’d spent the quiet hours after Jack’s call ordering large glossy prints and choosing parchment-coloured mounts and slim wooden frames to match the style of his office.
With luck, they’d be waiting for him when they reached home.
With his treat organised, Gareth threw himself into their last two days of holidays, answering Nico’s questions on defensive architecture as they toured Castle Drogo, and joining Daniel in his exploration of every artisan food stall they passed.
Their last dinner was a feast of local food picked up at a fair, and they had two coolers filled with fresh produce, cheese, and smoked fish to take back home with them.
The weather broke as they passed into Somerset, and Gareth started to count the miles. Not because the first rain in weeks made for greasy roads and nightmare traffic, but because he hoped to find his purchases ready and waiting for him.
Jack’s absence caught him at odd times during the day, a quick, sharp ache like a stubbed toe, soon blending back into normalcy.
With it came memories of the frustrating time when Jack had worked undercover.
He’d been in London but out of reach, and worry had chewed Gareth’s control ragged.
This time around, Jack was half a world away, but he texted daily and called when he could.
Gareth felt marginally better about the current situation, but it had also occurred to him—at the tail-end of a sleepless night when their bed felt too expansive to make it comfortable—that should anything happen to Jack, Nico, or Daniel, he’d have only mundane items to remember them by.
For too many reasons, most of them aimed at keeping Daniel and Nico safe, they didn’t take photos of each other—and Gareth was coming to hate that restriction.
And then a man he didn’t know had sent him photos of Jack, and the idea of Jack, captured doing something that gave him joy, brought Gareth a wash of joy in turn.
Having that joy documented—and on his walls—made Jack and his place in Gareth’s life tangible, and much more real.
Not that he’d ever admit to something so sappy, but the least he could do was ensure they had photos to remember each other.
Rain came down in streaks as he climbed out of the car outside their house. And headed straight for the locker beside the front door, grateful the courier hadn’t dropped the packages in the porch.
“Did you order something?” Daniel called after him.
“Those photos of Jack I showed you. I had them printed. I hope they didn’t get soaked.” He keyed the locker open and there, between a parcel of books for Nico, and a stack of mail, were his packages: a well-wrapped flattish box, and a padded cardboard tube.
“We can unload and make dinner if you want to go hang them,” Nico offered, fishing his books from the locker.
Gareth blinked himself out of visions of Jack practising kata. “Don’t be silly. There’s enough time for DIY when we’re settled and tidy.” He smiled at Daniel. “Though if you want to cook, I won’t object.”
“Unsurprising, after all the driving you’ve been doing. What do we want to eat?”
“Bangers and mash,” Nico requested. “That feels like being home. And you had a field day at that butcher’s on the moor.”
“They’ve won awards!”
“Exactly.”
“Bangers and mash sounds wonderful.” Gareth carried the coolers into the kitchen and couldn’t stop a silly smile when Nico handed him a beer, cold and dewy and straight from the fridge. “Thank you. I see you’re spoiling me.”
Nico blushed. “Shoe. Other foot,” he muttered, before he ran off to bring in the camping gear.
They dealt with laundry, email, check-ins, and food like any family returning from a week away, but through the late afternoon and evening, Gareth felt the warm glow of anticipation.
And as often when he and Jack spent time together, he enjoyed drawing things out.
When he finally poured a glass of whisky and carried his purchases upstairs, the house lay silent.
Ever since the photos had arrived on his phone, he’d planned how to turn his idea into reality—and his meticulous preparation paid off.
Less than an hour later, he settled into his desk chair and watched Jack step, leap, and spin across the wall, holding a wooden bokken, and wearing nothing but deep green hakama.
The images weren’t sexual, or even sexy, but they left Gareth breathless.
He couldn’t wait for Jack to come home and see himself on Gareth’s wall.
And while being this riled when he couldn’t do a thing about it wasn’t comfortable, he was delighted with his treat and happy to imagine Jack’s reaction.