Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
J ack looked Harry up and down. “You look atrocious. I’m not sure they’ll even let you in.”
Harry beamed. “Thanks! This dude specified over the top, and I think it hits the mark.” He spread his arms wide and twirled, making the tasselled purple paisley shawl he was wearing flare out dramatically. Jack didn’t know where it had come from—possibly some alternate horror dimension where tassels were acceptable—but it clashed beautifully with the bright red shirt Harry was wearing underneath.
“The fact someone’s paying you to turn up looking like that still blows my mind,” Jack said. “Here I am, buried in engine oil and brake pads trying to make a living, and you get to swan off to dinner, be a wanker and get two hundred bucks. It’s genius, honestly.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Harry, because he was an adorable little stress monkey, had been worried that Jack might find him continuing to date other people for money upsetting, but they were past that now, and Jack was glad. He didn’t like to think of Harry worrying about whether Jack was jealous. He didn’t like to think of Harry worrying over anything, actually. The very idea of it made him want to wrap Harry in a blanket and never let him go.
And sure, they’d only been dating a month, but a month was a long time in dating-Harry years, because everything with Harry was so fresh and new and intense in a way Jack hadn’t ever felt before. It was like this was his first time dating as well. In a lot of ways, he guessed it was. He’d never been with anyone who affected him like Harry did. Jack was falling for him. He was falling for him hard.
It was kind of great.
“Do you want me to wait up?”
Harry ran a hand through his hair. “Please? I don’t think it’ll be late. This is one of those occasions where just turning up will be enough, I think. I’m the flamboyant gay sacrificial lamb. Even the threat of me dating their son will do the trick.” He picked up a pair of rose-tinted, heart-shaped sunglasses off the dresser and slid them on as a finishing touch.
He looked ridiculous, and Jack adored him anyway.
Harry stopped long enough to give him a kiss on the way out the door, shawl swishing dramatically, and Jack settled in to watch a movie and fold his laundry and wait for him to get back.
Tris and his latest conquest trailed in at some point, and Jack turned up the volume on the TV because nobody needed to hear that. But good for Tris, honestly.
He was halfway through his second movie when he heard the front door squeak open, then scrape against the floor when it hit the mysterious swelling lump in the entryway floorboards. This place was such a tip. It was probably only the termites holding it together. Jack turned the TV off and stood up.
“How was your—?” He stopped as Harry stepped into the room. His hair was spiked up and looked gross and sticky, and his bright red shirt was covered in what appeared to be fruit pieces, meringue dust and cream. “How was the pavlova?”
Harry flashed him a grin. “Dunno. Maybe next time I should try eating it instead of wearing it.”
“There aren’t strawberries on that, are there?” Jack knew it was irrational, because Harry would have been in the hospital if there had been, but he had to ask.
Harry’s grin widened, and his eyes twinkled with mischief. “Actually, that’s what tipped the dad over the edge. I was telling them about my allergy, and how a date nearly killed me once by putting jam on his dick because he thought it’d be sexy, and his dad said I was talking bullshit. So he got on my case about hassling the server for strawberry-free pavlova, and when it arrived, he yelled, ‘Here’s your strawberry-free pavlova, you little prick!’ and shoved it in my face.”
Jack laughed and extended a hand. “Get over here, you.” He lowered his voice, aiming for sultry. “Maybe I could lick that cream off you?”
Just because he wasn’t jealous of Harry’s dates, that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to make Harry feel special when he got home from one, as a way to counteract whatever arsehole thing his dates’ parents had said to him. He’d read once that it took five compliments to wipe out the effects of an insult. He didn’t know if it was true or not, but regardless, Jack liked treating Harry like he was something special. Because he really was.
Harry sucked a breath in through his teeth. “I get that you’re trying to be sexy and stuff, but I just spent thirty minutes on the bus with this cream slowly turning grosser and grosser. Even the homeless guy next to me thought I smelled disgusting. So please don’t put your mouth near it. I don’t want you to die of food poisoning.”
Jack remembered the last time he’d eaten a bad prawn, recalling with vivid clarity the way he’d lain curled up on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor and wished for death. He scrunched up his nose. “Good call. I don’t want me to die of food poisoning, either.”
“I’ll go get changed and have a shower,” Harry said, taking one step towards the stairs before pausing. “Did you want to…come with me?”
“In the shower, you mean?” Jack asked, just to be sure.
Harry ducked his head and ran a hand down the back of his neck, dislodging a blob of cream. It hit the floor with a sad little splat. “Yeah.”
Jack’s breath caught in his throat. This was new territory for them. Sure, they shared a bed a lot of nights, and they’d gotten as far as handjobs, but those tended to be under the blankets, which was fine—great, even. Still. Jack hadn’t actually seen Harry naked, and he hadn’t pushed. But if Harry was offering?
“I could wash the cream off you instead of licking it.” The words were out before Jack knew it, his mouth bypassing his brain.
“Okay.” Harry’s cheeks pinked up. “That sounds much more sanitary. And sexy.”
They clattered up the stairs and into the small bathroom. It was cramped and awkward and Jack didn’t care, because Harry was choosing to share this—share himself— with him. He turned so he was facing Harry, bodies inches apart, and he reached up and shoved lightly at the godawful shawl so it slid from Harry’s shoulders and landed on the floor in a puddle of fabric. Then he leaned in and pressed a reassuring kiss to Harry’s lips before starting to work his shirt buttons undone. “You’re gorgeous, you know that?” he said softly as the last button came undone and Harry’s shirt fell open.
Jack drank in the sight of Harry—long and lean, his stomach flat and his dusky nipples stark against his pale skin, along with a smattering of chest hair and a dark treasure trail that disappeared into his skin-tight jeans. Jack wanted to kiss him all over and pull the kinds of noises out of him that Harry normally only made under the blankets at night with a hand on his cock.
Harry blinked as Jack carefully took his glasses off and sat them on the counter beside the sink. His mouth twisted into something that was trying hard to be a smile, and he couldn’t quite look Jack in the eye. “You’re gorgeous too.”
“Oh, but you waited until I took your glasses off before you said it,” Jack said. “I see how it is.”
Harry laughed loudly, his shoulders sagging as the tension lifted off them, then clapped a hand over his mouth. “Yeah, that’s how I like all my boys. Slightly blurry.”
“And I like mine laughing and pretty, so we’re both winning,” Jack said, pressing their foreheads together for a second before reaching around him and turning the taps on so their dodgy hot water would have a chance to kick in before they got in the shower. He didn’t know about Harry, but he was pretty sure the first time he showed someone his dick, he wouldn’t want it to be when it had been hit with a blast of cold water.
He wrinkled his nose at the smell of curdled cream and pulled Harry’s shirt off then dropped it on top of the shawl. Harry reached out and tugged at the waist of Jack’s tee. “Come on. Your turn.”
Jack shucked out of his shirt easily. They both stared at each other for a moment before Harry took a deep breath, said, “Here goes nothing,” then undid his jeans and tried to shove them down—only for them to get caught around his hips. He rocked back and forth like one of those bobbing bird desk ornaments that was meant to be drinking water as he did his best to manoeuvre out of the clingy stretch denim.
Jack suppressed a laugh and reached out, placing a steadying hand on Harry’s hip. “Need a hand?” He didn’t wait for an answer but grasped the fabric and yanked , and he was able to work the jeans steadily downward until they were wadded around Harry’s ankles, and his boxer-clad dick was right in Jack’s eyeline. It was a nice view, what there was of it, and Jack couldn’t wait to see more.
He straightened up and hastily kicked his own jeans off while Harry stepped out of the rolled-up mess of his trousers, leaving him wearing nothing but a pair of boxers with Spongebob all over them.
“Were these part of your Bad Boyfriend wardrobe?” he asked.
“No.” Harry blinked down at them. “These are mine.” He grinned. “There’s no level of the Bad Boyfriend experience where I get my pants off.”
“Right,” Jack agreed with a smile. “That’s only the Good Boyfriend experience.”
“It’s super exclusive. Audience of one.” Harry paused for a second, then hooked his thumbs into the elastic of his boxers. “Ready?”
“No pressure,” Jack reminded him, even though he was desperate to see what, exactly, Patrick Starfish was hiding.
“No pressure,” Harry agreed, and slid his Spongebob boxers down.
Jack did his best not to stare and failed utterly. Harry had a nice dick, a decent size even at half-mast, nestled in a thatch of dark curls that matched the hair on his head. It was thick but not obscenely so, and Jack couldn’t resist reaching out and cupping it in one hand, feeling it move and grow under his touch .
Harry’s breath hitched. “So?” His uncertainty was evident.
“It’s gorgeous, like the rest of you,” Jack assured him, and relief flitted across Harry's face. “My turn.” He eased his own plain black boxers down over the erection that had decided to show up around the time Harry’s dick had come into view.
Harry’s eyes widened, his eyebrows rose, and he stared for a second before saying, “I thought you’d be blonder.” Jack sputtered out a laugh and Harry added, “It’s nice, though. Blurry, but nice.”
“I’m glad you approve.” Jack grabbed Harry around the waist, stealing a quick kiss before steering him into the shower cubicle. He turned them so Harry was catching most of the water and grabbed Tristan’s fancy shampoo that they absolutely weren’t supposed to use on pain of death, squirting some into his palm. He figured Tris wouldn’t mind, just this once. Not when it was a special occasion. Once Harry’s hair was wet enough, Jack worked the shampoo into a lather and ran his fingers through Harry’s dark locks, chasing away the cream and kiwifruit and passionfruit seeds. While Harry tilted his head back and rinsed the suds out, Jack soaped up the sponge and ran it down Harry’s body in long, gentle strokes. First his front, then his back, greedy for the feel of hard muscle under his palms.
Harry blinked at him, the glistening wetness of his skin and the way the water droplets sparkled on his eyelashes making him look like some sort of angel or fae prince. He reached out and took the sponge off Jack. “My turn to touch,” he said with quiet intensity, dragging the soapy sponge down Jack’s chest, fingertips trailing through the suds. From the way his dick hardened further as he traced the pattern of Jack’s tattoo, he was as hungry for this as Jack was. The idea that Jack was the only person Harry had ever wanted like this was a heady thought, intoxicating, and it sent a thrill right to Jack’s core.
The shower stall was small enough that there was barely an inch between them, their erections grazing gently against each other in an intimate tease. It wasn’t enough, and Jack found himself sliding to his knees and gazing up at Harry, wrapping one hand around his erection and licking his lips. “Can I?”
Harry’s mouth dropped open then snapped shut again, and he gave a tiny nod, eyes wide. Jack leaned in and licked delicately at the head, then ran his tongue down the shaft. Harry made a strangled noise and his fingers clutched tight in Jack’s hair, whether to keep him still or pull him closer, Jack wasn’t sure. He took the head in his mouth and sucked at it gently and was rewarded with, “Holymotherofchristshitballs.”
Jack pulled off long enough to say, “Don’t let them hear you say that at Saint Robert’s,” then he put his mouth back on Harry’s cock, earning a sharp gasp. Jack closed his eyes against the shower spray and set up a steady rhythm, in-out-in-out, losing himself to the feel of Harry’s dick in his mouth and the weight of him against his tongue, savouring the noises Harry was making—little half-sounds like he was trying to form words but couldn’t quite manage it—and the way Harry’s thighs trembled.
His own erection slapped against his belly, achingly hard and throbbing in time with the filthy noises Harry was making, but he ignored it. He could deal with it later. Right now, his main focus was blowing Harry’s mind.
It wasn’t long before there was a bitter burst of salt across his tongue. He took it as encouragement and kept going, his throat working as he swallowed and sucked, his hands planted against Harry’s thighs. Jack was good at this, and he wanted Harry’s first blowjob to be unforgettable, so he gave it his all, running his tongue down the shaft and flicking it over the head. Harry’s dick throbbed and pulsed against his tongue and the hand in his hair pulled urgently, giving him enough warning to pull off just as Harry’s hips snapped forward and he came with a grunt, spattering Jack’s face and neck.
“Holy shit,” Harry panted out, before sliding down the wall of the shower, landing in a boneless sprawl in front of Jack. He looked utterly fucked-out—if he’d been wearing his glasses, they would have been askew. He flapped a hand at Jack and gave him a wide, stunned smile. “I mean, holy shit. ”
Jack grinned, leaning his head back to capture the spray and rinse the mess away. Harry draped his arms around his neck and rested some of his weight on him. His gaze dropped to Jack’s hard on. “Did you want a hand with that?” he asked, and there was none of the reluctance there had been the first time he’d asked. This time, Harry sounded like he meant it.
“Yeah.” Jack grinned, sliding against the wall next to Harry because shower sex sounded great in theory, but now that he wasn’t focussed on Harry’s cock, he was aware of the ache in his knees from the unforgiving tile surface. Harry reached over and wrapped a hand around his dick, squeezing lightly before moving his hand up and down, hesitant at first but quickly working up to a hard and fast rhythm, just the way Jack liked. His balls throbbed, his nerve endings crackled and his blood fizzed. Jack arched up into Harry’s touch, knowing he was going to blow his load in about ten seconds and not caring, because they were both naked and wet and Harry was touching him, and if this wasn’t the hottest thing ever, Jack didn’t know what was.
Except it wasn’t, it turned out.
The hottest thing ever was Harry leaning over and playfully whispering in his ear, “You missed a spot,” then darting forward and licking at the corner of Jack’s mouth, before kissing him with the taste of cum fresh on his tongue. Jack’s entire body seized, and he suspected Harry was laughing at him as he twitched and gasped his way through his orgasm like someone had touched a live wire to his balls. But right now? He had absolutely zero fucks to give.
He was pretty sure he’d just given them all to Harry.
“How come they never have this problem in the movies?” Harry grumbled against Jack’s shoulder a few minutes or hours or millennia later, shivering under the lukewarm spray that was still falling. Their afterglow was still going strong, but the hot water system wasn’t. “I’ve never yet seen a romcom where they run out of hot water.”
“That’s because people in romcoms don’t live in a hundred-year-old house that’s only standing through the strength of the sheer spite of its owner,” Jack said with a lazy smile. He hauled himself to his feet and turned the taps off before the water turned from tepid to freezing without warning. His legs were still partly jelly, but he had enough strength to pull Harry to his feet. “People in romcoms are beautiful people living with other beautiful people in beautiful houses, and blackouts only happen to advance the plot, and are never because they’re broke students who forgot to pay the power bill.”
Harry smiled at him, pink cheeked. “I do live with a beautiful people. It’s just the house that’s shit.”
Warmth spread through Jack at that, almost making up for the chill coming from his wet skin. “You’re such a sap,” he said, handing Harry a towel.
Harry grinned and didn’t try to deny it as he tucked the towel around his waist. Jack settled his palms over the warm skin of Harry’s hips and leaned in for a kiss, but they were interrupted by a pounding on the door.
“Hey, you two!” Tristan shouted. “Stop fucking around in there! I need to take a piss, and if you don’t hurry up, I’m going to have to do it in the sink again!”
“Again?” Jack asked in a whisper. “Ew.”
Harry’s jaw dropped open, then he was scrambling for the door, flinging it open. “You swore! You said you’d never do it again, that it was one time! ”
Tristan was standing there draped in some sort of kimono that barely covered his arse, fist raised to knock again. He pushed past Harry, making a beeline for the toilet. It was only when he cast a glance over his shoulder and said, “Damn, Harry, I’d tap that,” that Jack realised he was still completely naked.
“You can’t,” Harry said, raising his eyebrows. “I’m super exclusive, and that one’s all mine.”
Jack smiled at him, warmth pooling in his chest, and Harry beamed back.
“Okay, Jesus,” Tristan said. “A bit of fucking privacy, please?”
Jack grabbed his towel and Harry’s hand, and led him out of the bathroom.
“Thank you!” Tristan called after them and, a moment later, began to piss.
If Jack was honest with himself, he’d heard much, much worse when it came to Tris and the things he did with his dick. He shook his head and drew Harry down the hallway to his bedroom—although really, at this stage the bedroom was more theirs than his.
He wasn’t complaining.