Chapter 2
TWO
ANDRES
Jackson sits across from me at the small table in his kitchen nook.
Two chairs, a vase of flowers from his sister in the middle—a birthday gift that he’s managed to keep alive.
He pulls out my chair, then settles into his own.
Our apartments are almost identical in layout and setup.
Did we do this on purpose? Honestly, yes.
It’s just easier if everything’s in the same place so we both know our way around. But mostly for Jackson. If he were to ever go low in my apartment, he could easily find whatever he needs. Down to his kit being in the right-side nightstand in my bedroom, where he sleeps.
You’d think we were a couple, but we’re not. I try not to think too hard about why that stings.
We go out—not on dates or anything like that—but we do everything together.
We hook up with women, mostly together. It’s easier that way.
Less to think about. On the rare occasions we’ve each brought one home, they never stay the night.
After they leave, one of us almost always crawls into the other’s bed.
I almost never get a good night's sleep when I’m not with him.
I spend most of the night awake, worrying about his blood sugar. Whether he ate enough before bed. Whether his pump might malfunction in the middle of the night. Things a best friend should worry about. And things he shouldn’t. I've stopped pretending I know which is which.
At least not at the level I do.
I’m anxious to the point where I took over meal prepping and do all the cooking for both of us. Every meal has the nutrition facts written on the whiteboard on our fridges. Just so it’s easier.
Not being in his bed last night already made sleeping hard. Then the Share app jolting me awake with a low alert—right after I'd finally drifted off—sealed it. We need to just stick together.
“So.” Jackson smiles up at me as I set the plate in front of him. “Can we go out again tonight if I promise not to drink? We missed out on bringing that chick home because of Kai and Isla.”
I groan and sit across from him with my own plate. “You got some action, if I recall.” I wink at him.
“I think you mean you. I didn’t get to come.”
Jackson starts eating without bolusing. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I open his pump app, add in his carbs and his blood sugar, and give him his insulin. His pump vibrates, and he shoots me an irritated look.
“You know I am capable of taking care of myself.” He rolls his eyes at me, which makes me click my tongue.
Jackson is the biggest brat.
And he knows exactly how much I let him get away with.
“So then show me you can take care of yourself.” I nudge him with my foot under the table, bringing his eyes up to mine. His gorgeous ice-blue eyes. The ones I want to drown in.
No, stop it.
You do not want to drown in his eyes. Liar.
“It’s not always that easy, Dre. You know that.” He scoffs, spearing the strawberry and bringing it to his lips.
Stop staring at his mouth.
I sit back and sip my coffee, barely touching my own eggs, watching to make sure he eats all of his. “Can you try?”
“If I say that I will, can we go out tonight?” He gives me the pouty lip, and I nod. “Yes! Should we see if the guys want to go out or just tag team it?” He snorts at his own statement.
“Just us. We don’t want some poor girl thinking she’s walking into a gang bang with almost the whole infield of the Coyotes.” Because we have totally had that happen in the past.
Awkward was an understatement.
“I’m pretty sure Kai is going to be occupied for the foreseeable future, and Gael was acting weird.” Jackson pushes his empty plate away, and I beam at him.
“Mike and Brooks have been fucking around too.” I stand, grabbing his plate and walking it to the sink.
“Shut the fuck up!”
I couldn’t believe it either.
“Yep. I walked in on them after the last practice. Mike had Brooks in a very… uh… compromising position.” I wiggle my eyebrows at him. “Okay, I promised you a treat if you ate your breakfast, and you did.”
“I want—” Then he pauses, and I see the internal struggle on his face.
Crossing the kitchen and pulling him up from his seat. “What do you want, mi sol? Tell me.”
“Will you fuck me? Make me come?”
I’ll give you whatever you want, pretty boy.
“Get your ass in the bedroom, unless you want me to fuck you out here?” I don’t have to tell him twice, because Jackson practically sprints to the bedroom.
His eagerness makes me smile because I know I’d be just like him if the roles were reversed. Even though I tend to top him the majority of the time, there are times when I want him to fuck me, and Jackson is always game.
That’s why whatever this is between us feels like it works.
I put my coffee cup in the sink and head towards the bedroom and stop at the open door, leaning against the frame, watching Jackson strip down from his joggers and shirt to his tight, black boxer briefs.
I reach behind me and tug my shirt over my head with one hand and toss it on top of the dresser.
Leaving on my silver chain with my Saint Andrew pendant hanging between my heavily tattooed pecs, I cross the room to him.
Jackson has a full sleeve of leaves and vines on his right arm, and on his left wrist, a medical alert tattoo for his type one.
Jackson’s fucking hot.
He’s not too muscular, but you can see the muscles in his abs and his perfect V. He’s on the thinner side due to not being able to keep the weight on. That’s what I’m for—making sure he eats and his sugar stays in range. I’m his endocrinologist’s favorite person because I keep Jackson in line.
I love every inch of his skin. From the silver, faded scars on his stomach, ass, and triceps. To the little holes that dot his fingers from being poked multiple times.
Jackson already has the lube out and ready to go.
My pretty boy is so eager to get taken care of.
No condom though.
I raise my eyebrow. We use them religiously, just to be on the safe side because we still sleep with women on occasion. Not that I should be worried; I’ve already told Jackson he’s the only guy I sleep with, and he said it’s the same with him. And we get tested regularly.
“I just was wondering if—” his cheeks flush, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve seen. Mi sol is getting embarrassed because he wants me to fuck him raw.
I wrap my arms around him and pull him chest to chest with me. “You need to use your words, Jackson.”
“I need you, Dre. God, I want to feel you.” He makes the first move, and his mouth is on mine, stealing the air from my lungs. The thing is, I’d give him my very last breath. That’s how far gone I am.
And I still won’t say the word for it.
Breaking our kiss, I reach for the hand holding his pump, and I look at the screen—no bolus pending—suspend it, and unhook his site from the tubing.
“Well, that’s so not sexy.” He grumbles, cheeks flushing.
“You are sexy, Jackson. Every part of you. Now lie down so I can prove it to you.” He climbs into bed, and I grab the lube, following him. It’s been about a week since I’ve fucked him. He’ll need stretching to make sure I don’t hurt him.
“How do you want me?” he asks, looking up at me with those submissive eyes, and I fold.
“You tell me, pretty boy. How do you want me to fuck you?” I click the lid a few times and watch him get flustered.
“On my side.”
Works for me.
He rolls onto his side. I come up behind him, kissing his neck, sucking the spot where his pulse thrums. I position myself and tug the waistband of his underwear down, his perfect ass on display.
“Stay still for me.” I squirt lube into my hand and let it slide down my fingers. I press one to his hole, circling to get him used to it. He lets out some breathy pants as I push the finger past the tight muscle.
“Fuck,” he gasps, reaching back for my hip. Once he relaxes and I can add another, he starts to push back into my hand, trying to take more.
“Be good and let me stretch you, baby. We don’t need you hurting later tonight—because we both know once whoever she is goes home, you’ll come crawling into my bed, begging me to fuck you.”
And I want her to leave before she even gets here.
“Call me baby again.”
I add a third finger, and he cries out.
“Dre…”
“Baby.” I whisper in his ear before biting his lobe.
We are so much more than best friends. I don’t think friends with benefits call each other pet names.
But he is my baby, mi sol, my fucking everything.
I withdraw my fingers, wipe my hand on my sweats, and tug them down with my underwear. I take a handful of lube and stroke my cock, my eyes rolling back. “You ready for me, pretty boy?”
“Yes, please. Fuck me,” he whines, pushing his ass back into my groin like a needy little slut.
I press the tip of my cock to his stretched hole and push forward, sliding home. That’s what it is. Home. “That’s it.” I slip my arm under him, wrapping my hand around his throat and giving him a firm squeeze.
Jackson tries to draw in a breath, but the blood’s already cut off—all he can do is gasp. “Look at you, mi sol. So pretty when you struggle.” I pound into him, my free hand reaching down to his cock, thumb working his precum over the leaking tip.
“Mmm.” He whimpers, and I lick the tear running down his cheek before whispering—
“I can feel you’re almost there, aren’t you, pretty boy?
” I give him a few firm strokes, matching the pace with how hard I thrust into his ass.
“Such a good boy, taking my cock like the perfect little slut you are. You know good boys get to come, Jackson. So come for me, mi sol. Cover my hand in your cum while I fill your perfect ass with mine.”
Jackson’s face is red. He knows he just has to tap my hand three times and I’ll let go. But he doesn’t—he wants to be right at the edge when I finally release him. I’m so close but I need him to come first.
“That’s it, baby. Finish for me. Dame lo que quiero, Jackson.” Thrust.
With a strained gasp, he taps my hand three times.
I let go, stroking him as I pound into his ass as deep as I can.
He gasps, moans, and comes all at once. Pulses of cum spill over my fist, and his body shakes as he rides the high.
“Fuck. Such a good fucking boy, just like that. I’m gonna come now, baby. ”
“Fuck, yes. I wanna feel you fill me up.”
God, he’s perfect.
I shift him onto his stomach and drive into him over and over. Hearing him moan my name triggers my orgasm, and I spill inside him, giving him everything I’ve got.
Still inside him, I roll onto my side, taking him with me, keeping his back to my chest. I reach for the wipes and clean my hands, then grab his pump and reattach it, starting his insulin back up.
“You’re too good to me, Dre.”
Not good enough. Not by a mile.
I set the pump in front of him, drape my arm over his hip, and kiss his shoulder. “Shut up, Jackson. Pull the comforter up, and let's go back to sleep for a little bit. I slept like shit last night.”
He chuckles and pulls the comforter around us. I nuzzle into his neck, breathing in the scent of his skin, and smirk.
He smells like me now.
Jackson smells like he’s mine.