Chapter 7 Jackal
JACKAL
After I pull the towel around my waist and run a comb through my wet hair, I think about how Garrett has been preoccupied with thoughts he wasn’t open to sharing.
They make him even quieter than usual. Subdued, even.
Periodically, in our relationship, Garrett has pulled away. The first time, I wondered if it was because he doubted the two of us. That he had reservations we were moving too fast. Or like the classic line said, maybe he just wasn’t that into me.
When he came back, we talked.
But over the years since then, it’s become obvious to me that he gets overwhelmed by the intimacy of the two of us. The happier we become, the more I expect him to self-sabotage and detonate us.
I’ve tried to talk to him about it, and once, I thought I’d made headway. But it’s like an unconscious pattern with some sleeper keyword, and when that word gets said, he attempts to blow us up.
A therapist would probably have something to say about it. But from my untrained eye, I think the idea he’s found the very thing he never believed in becomes too much to hold on to.
Love and happiness.
Like, how can he possibly have a thing that is unequivocally not real?
Because his life was so utterly desolate and devoid of it before me, the very feel of it makes him itch. Even if he can’t see it.
For Christmas two years ago, I got him a vintage 1947 Harley-Davidson Knucklehead motorcycle I knew he wanted so badly.
Beautiful paint job in a brilliant blue.
Fully rebuilt. When he saw it Christmas morning, he lost his shit.
Told me it was too much. But early in the argument, he said four words that meant I stood there until he was done, then told him I loved him.
Those four words ripped my heart apart and gave me all the clues I needed to understand his reaction.
I don’t deserve this.
We talked for hours after. And every gift since, I’ve contained my desire to spend whatever I want to on him, and he’s learned how to say thank you and not freak out.
I wonder if the house and the work we’ve done over the last week to make it a home is part of the problem. That he can’t believe we finally have a place of our own and the things we’ve bought together over the years around us.
“It looks good in here, doesn’t it?” I say as Garrett comes into the bedroom we finished painting, holding two glasses of whiskey.
He’s still wearing his towel from the shower he took before me.
“Here’s to getting it finished in a weekend.” Garrett raises his glass, as if giving the walls credit for getting done.
Catfish and Wren had come over to help. Wren focused on setting up our security system, while Catfish helped us strip all the shit out, patch up the walls, and sand the woodwork. Then, we painted the whole thing a cool, sage green.
Color-drenching, the guy at the store told me it was called.
“Feels a bit like I’m going to sleep in a cave,” Garrett mumbles, taking a sip.
I walk over to him, take my glass, and knock it against the rim of his. “That’s kind of the point. Somewhere dark, with new blackout curtains so we can sleep, whatever time of day we need to.”
He puts his glass down on the side table, then removes his towel before hanging it over the door
The bed creaks as Garrett drops onto it. All six foot four of him landing like he owns every inch. “You were right about the bed.”
I smile at the admission. “Alaskan King all the way, baby.”
It’s huge and new. Delivered yesterday. Nine feet by nine feet.
A huge square with a large headboard, all wrapped in leather the color of cognac.
There’ll be no sleeping with my feet hanging over the edge of the bed.
And given Garrett sleeps like he’s on high alert, and I sleep like a starfish making its way across the ocean floor, there’s enough room for us both to be our funky little selves.
“Wish I hadn’t seen the cost of the bedding, though,” he grumbles.
I don’t tell him I bought two sets and the other is in one of the boxes we haven’t yet unpacked downstairs. He lies down naked, before pulling one of the many new pillows firmly beneath his head. The bed is so big, it’s three pillows wide instead of the standard two.
And I briefly wonder what it would feel like to have a third person sleep on it with us.
Garrett sprawls a little, long legs spread, his chest rising slowly. The lamplight throws shadows on the hard cut of his abdomen and pecs. His cock’s not soft, but it’s also not hard.
He looks tired after a long day.
“Lose the towel,” he says gruffly.
I do as he says and make my way to my side of the bed.
My side of our bed.
Gently, I place the glass down on the bedside table, but his eyes track the movement like a predator trying to uncover my weakness.
Which is ironic, because my weakness is him.
“Come here,” he says.
I crawl onto the bed, and no sooner do I get close to him than he reaches for my chin, tugging me to him.
Chin becomes cheek becomes neck. He pulls my mouth to his, kissing me with an open filthy hunger that I can feel in my bones.
There’s no warmup kiss.
“You look good, crawling for me,” he mutters.
His tongue pushes past my lips again, possessing every part of me. And I groan into his mouth, my cock twitching hard. His hand slides into my hair, holding it tight.
“You want me on my knees?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Not yet,” he says, pushing me back until I’m flat on the mattress, and then he reaches into the drawer and pulls out lube I didn’t know he’d put there. He drops it onto his pillow so it’s within reach, then climbs over me, pinning me like I’m his prey.
“You wanna talk about why you got moody today?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Nope. I want to christen this bed.”
He kisses me again, harder than before, then drags his body slowly down mine. His chest hair scrapes across my nipples, making me suck in air between my teeth. He licks a strip down the center of my stomach. It’s slow, and dirty, and wet, and he dodges my hard cock.
Wide hands slip beneath my thighs, pushing my legs wider.
“Jesus, Bear.”
He raises his head, eyes dark. “You’re already dripping for me.”
I look down and, holy shit, I am. A thick bead of pre-cum glistens on the head, and as we watch, it begins to slide down my cock.
Garrett smirks, gripping my length firmly, almost painfully, then flicks his tongue out to lick it off.
Every pass of his hand up my length is like a hot, electric pulse up my spine. When he sucks on me, my back arcs off the bed.
“More,” I manage to say, my mouth dry.
To be completely contrary, he releases me and moves back up the bed, his knees astride my thighs until our cocks are lined up. He reaches for the lube, pouring a generous amount into the palm of his hand, and then he grips us both, forcing our cocks against each other.
And then he begins to jerk the two of us off with one hand.
“I mean it, Garrett. I want more tonight. I want you.”
He smiles down at me then, eyes so intense and filled with need that the worries I had earlier evaporate.
I can see by the way he looks at me, his feelings are as strong as ever.
Any weirdness only ever comes from the internal narrative he has.
That he’s taking other opportunities for different relationships away from me.
That I’m going to realize what he thinks everyone else sees.
That he’s not worth loving.
Fool that he is.
I’m not going anywhere.
Not when he looks at me like this.
He strokes us painfully slowly, the lube spreading over both our shafts.
“More,” I gasp, and I slide my hand over his, forcing his fingers tighter.
Garrett sucks in a breath. “Fuck, you’re perfect.” He brushes my hand away and releases us. “Turn over.”
He lifts off me and scooches down the bed a little as I roll onto my stomach. Garrett palms the cheeks of my ass, spreading me open, exhaling an appreciative groan.
“You ready?” He trails his lubed fingers down between my cheeks.
Garrett works a thick finger into my asshole, making me groan into the pillow. My hips jerk back voluntarily. My cock twitching against the mattress.
“Easy,” he murmurs. “Let me stretch you.”
“I’ve been waiting all day,” I grit out. “Just fuck me already.”
Garrett laughs, a deep, rough sound that does as much for my patience as his finger. He adds a second one, and I feel the stretch.
“You want my cock that bad?” He leans over me, so his breath hits my ear.
“Yes.”
“You gonna take me like a good boy?”
“Don’t I always?”
He pulls his fingers out, and I hear him slicking himself up with more lube. The slippery wet sound is obscene and perfect. He drizzles more lube over my hole, cold against my heated skin, and I gasp.
Then, the blunt head of him presses against me in that thick, unyielding way that makes my knees weak. He pushes in slow, at first. Controlled, but gentle. I feel every inch as he splits me open. The intensity steals my breath.
He works his way in like waves, forging forward, then retreating, until he bottoms out, hips flush to my ass.
Garrett grabs my shoulder, his fingertips biting into the tight muscle from the work we did in the last twenty-four hours. Using it as leverage, he withdraws, then thrusts home, hard.
“Listen to that,” he says.
There’s the wet slap of skin on skin, mixing with my murmured groans and curses. Garrett leans over me, chest pressed to my back, pushing me flat into the mattress as he fucks me deeper.
“You feel that?” he growls into my neck. “That’s me inside you. Filling you.”
“Give it to me,” I beg.
He grabs my hips, lifts them slightly, then drives into me so fast and hard, I swear I see white behind my eyes. My cock drags along the sheets with every thrust, the pressure building unbearably fast. The friction a fucking necessity.
“You close?” His breath is ragged.
My mouth is so dry, I can barely speak. “Yeah.”
“Good.” He reaches beneath me, grabs my cock, and jerks me rough and hard while still pounding into me from behind.
Sweat forms between our bodies.