Chapter Twenty-Four #4
It had been far too long since Ger had felt like himself.
He’d been good at this once, smooth and self-assured.
He knew what he wanted to do in that moment, understood the impulse that moved through him, but when he reached for Jack, it was clumsy.
Desperate. His hand curled beneath the porter’s shirt collar and tugged.
If he hadn’t been so overcome by the breath that now moved easily through his lungs, he might’ve been embarrassed to have his mouth crash against Jack’s.
But he felt those plump lips curve beneath his own, a low gust of laughter.
And then, just as he had from the moment Ger stumbled through the door, Jack took care of it.
He rose carefully on his knees, those elegant hands sliding into his hair and righting the angle so their lips slanted together in the softest, slowest kiss.
With every pass of his lips, Jack breathed irresistible warmth into his chilled skin.
His cupid’s bow, his bottom lip, that mouth lush and full and, Goddess, very fucking kissable.
So much so, he couldn’t recall why they hadn’t been doing this the whole bloody time.
Ger couldn’t find the will to stop, even when his breath started to drag in his chest. So he didn’t.
He crushed himself closer, sliding his hand around the nape of Jack’s neck to twist into his silken hair, and when the porter loosed that sound from low in his throat, a familiar heat tightened below Ger’s navel, and he didn’t stop to think.
He dragged Jack up from the ground and into his lap, guided by sheer sensation and some base need to lose himself in the warmth and comfort of the beautiful man who’d sat up waiting for him on a horrible, harrowing night.
Who’d made him tea because he was shivering.
Who left him buttered bread rolls every night, just because he’d noticed how much he liked them.
Jack’s hands grasped at the table behind them, fumbling for leverage so he could press his full weight into their kiss, and Goddess, he liked that too. The groan that slipped out was hot and loud in the tight space between them, and he honestly could not say which of them it came from.
But at the sound of it, Jack, unfortunately, did stop to think.
“Wait, wait—” he gasped, breaking away.
Ger was so dazed he was halfway to chasing those lush lips before his sense caught up, and he stilled. He found himself quite suddenly wedged between horror and shame, and the combined pressure sent his stomach sinking, the warmth beneath his navel scattering at its descent.
Idiot.
Why was it only now occurring to him that Jack had never said he wanted this?
He’d said the opposite, in fact. Told Ger, to his face, that he only wanted his attention.
At the time, it had charmed him. He wasn’t used to anything quite so simple; being wanted for more than the passion he might, and quite often did, inspire.
His last fling, with a fellow gard back at the barracks, had been just that.
Barry had wanted his hands and his body and his time, but rarely his attention.
Even with Adeline, whom he knew had truly loved him, their short-lived romance had been largely physical, friendship blossoming in the space that sex had left behind.
He saw the way that others looked at him, too, had noticed it for most of his life.
He’d gotten good at noticing it, especially when it was mutual.
And when it wasn’t, when someone looked at him the way Avette did—
Cold sliced through him at the unwelcome thought. Those hungry black eyes; the icy flare of her temper after he’d last turned her down. And the consequence of that temper unleashed on someone else.
Daughters, he was a stupid man sometimes.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, tongue thick beneath his stuttered breath. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed you’d want—”
He started to shift sideways, but Jack still had his knees locked around his thighs, his hands braced on the table so his entire lean body caged Ger’s. A very welcome cage, at that, but a confusing one. And distracting. And warm, and—
Oh.
“Assume away,” Jack said in a hushed half-laugh, catching the clumsy trip of Ger’s eyes to the space where their bodies pressed together. “You’d be right, but I guess you know that.”
Ger swallowed. He did know that.
And despite the flutter of arousal that stirred in the pit of his stomach, he really, truly, wished he didn’t.
“I just—” Jack sighed and lifted a hand to rub at his forehead, squinting through his fingers. “You’ve clearly had a rough night, and you’re vulnerable, and … I don’t want us to do anything you might regret.”
His full lips quirked to the side, a rueful smirk.
“Annoyingly mature, I know.”
“You’re right,” said Ger.
Jack’s hand stilled above his brow. “About the annoying bit?”
“About the regret bit.”
Ger placed a hesitant hand beneath Jack’s elbow.
It was the least suggestive body part he could reach, but it hardly mattered when everywhere they touched sent flutters through his veins.
He ignored that giddy sensation bolting down his arm and guided the porter off his lap, onto the bench beside him.
Jack went willingly, angling sideways as he sat so he could peer up at Ger with those soft brows arched in question.
Ger couldn’t meet his eye. He didn’t want to see his expression change. He wanted to hold on to one little thing, if he could; the memory of the way that Jack looked at him might still keep him warm in the cold decay of Avette’s palace.
“You’re right,” he said again, staring down at his own knees. “I’d regret it. I’d regret doing this, with you.”
In his periphery, he could see Jack stiffen, hear the harsh catch of his breath. But it was for the best.
“Sorry,” Ger mumbled.
For the best, he reminded himself.
Then he eased to his feet and walked away, leaving his tea untouched and Jack staring wordlessly after him.