Chapter 22
Desmond
Should I have invited Jack to spend the night?
Probably not. Do I regret it? Absolutely not.
It feels like every time we’re together, he becomes more and more comfortable.
The blushing remains, but the somewhat fearful way he used to look at me is long gone.
There’s no discomfort or awkwardness left in the way he moves around the apartment, and he only paused for a minute before holding my hand tonight.
He might not feel wholly comfortable with anyone else, but the rest of the world isn’t my concern.
I want him to feel comfortable with me and Parker—safe and content and relaxed.
I have a feeling it’s not all anxiety that keeps Jack separating himself from others; from being comfortable with affection.
I imagine, after a childhood like his, that it would be easy to convince yourself that bodies are meant only for pain; that maybe it’s all he deserves.
Jack, in my opinion, has experienced more than his fair share of stress and anxiety, and the caretaker in me is burning for the opportunity to show him something better.
To show him a relationship built on compassion, and absent of fear.
Flicking on the light above the oven, I grab two glasses from the cupboard as Jack leans his butt against the edge of the dining room table. Filling the cups in the sink, I hand him one.
“Parker was okay?” I ask him, watching the fingers on his left hand clench and release around the strap of his backpack. I wonder if he even knows he’s doing it, or if his body naturally moves with nervous energy.
“He was great.” Jack smiles, cheeks tinged pink. I mimic his pose, leaning back against the counter and taking a sip of water.
“Good, I’m glad. Thank you for sitting with him.” He shrugs, but looks pleased. The hand drops away from the strap of his bag. “He behaved at your dorm?”
“Yeah,” he agrees, smirking slightly. “Definitely nosy, though.”
Snorting, I shake my head fondly. “Incredibly nosy. We’ve been over to Nico and Anthony’s a couple times for dinner; it’s like he can’t help but open closed doors and peek into drawers. Drives me mad.”
“It’s okay, I really didn’t mind,” Jack replies on a laugh, relaxing even further and resting his bag down on the floor. “He was in such a good mood all night.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Also, glad you came over.”
He immediately flushes, eyes dropping to the floor, but lips twitching upward into a tiny smile. I read the expression as an even mixture of pleasure and nerves, and hope the tension doesn’t begin to outweigh the other.
“Tired?” I ask, voice dropping so the question is for us alone. His light eyes meet mine, cheeks still rosy above all the freckles.
“Yeah,” he agrees, voice low.
It’s dark outside, and mostly dark in here; the moment feels like a safe, comfortable bubble around us. I don’t want to ruin the integrity of it by talking loudly. Jack surprises me by taking the lead and rising out of his recline against the dining table.
“Want to go to bed?” I ask, interpreting the gesture.
He nods at the floor, hiding his face as he bends to pick up his bag. I wait until he straightens before turning off the oven light. We use the hallway light Parker left on to guide us, Jack shadowing me as we go to my bedroom.
Even I’m a little nervous as he steps inside and I close the door behind him.
Not being an overly sexual person, bringing people into my bedroom has, historically, been a bit of a shit-show.
But while feeling on edge around a new partner is pretty common for me, I don’t think any sort of unease is necessary around Jack.
He’s so open with his emotions, and he’s simply not the kind of man to force anything onto another.
I know I can trust him with Parker, which means I can also trust him with myself.
“Do you want to shower?” I ask him, stepping away from the door and pulling off the tie I’d been wearing. I’m desperate to get these damn clothes off.
“Uhm, I can? If you want me to. I might be dirty,” he answers, sounding so unsure I turn and look at him as I unbutton my shirt.
“You don’t have to, Jacko. But it’s an option if you want to. Parker has to shower at night because he’s bloody useless in the morning, but you’re free to do whatever you’d like. ”
“I don’t want to get your bed all gross.” He laughs, still sounding too nervous for my liking.
“You won’t,” I tell him lightly, shrugging the dress shirt off and dropping it to the floor.
His eyes fall to my stomach, hidden by an undershirt, before bouncing back up to my face.
He hasn’t yet moved from his spot by the door.
“I might, though, seeing as I spent the evening in a locker room with a hockey team.”
Jack smiles. I gesture toward the chair I have pushed into the corner, and mostly use for washing storage instead of sitting.
“You can put your stuff down wherever, Jacko. Make yourself at home.”
I go into the bathroom to splash some water on my face and brush my teeth, leaving the door open in welcome for Jack.
After a few minutes, he comes into view, cheeks dusky and hair messy.
He’s changed into a pair of cotton sleep pants that look so worn and soft, I immediately want to put my hand on them.
His shirt, equally as worn, has several holes in it, offering hints at the pale, freckled tummy below.
Leaning over the sink to spit, I rinse out my mouth and replace the toothbrush.
“Is it okay if I…” He gestures vaguely at the bathroom. I step aside, knowing he’d probably prefer some room to me hovering over him while he took a pee.
“All yours, Jacko.”
I leave him to it, and finally discard the rest of my game-day clothes onto the floor.
I can’t stand sleeping with fabric tangled around my legs, so I settle for my usual tee-and-boxers ensemble and hope that Jack doesn’t mind.
Opening my bedroom door, I slip down the hall and hover an ear over Parker’s.
It’s silent, and there’s no light filtering under the crack.
When I sneak back to my room, Jack is sitting ramrod straight on the end of the bed, waiting for me. His hands, resting in his lap, are moving as though he’s fidgeting with his fingers.
“Parker asleep?” he asks as I approach him.
“Think so,” I agree, stopping next to him and touching my fingertips to the top of his shoulder. “He’s quiet, anyhow, which is sometimes half the battle. Tired?”
“Yeah.” His eyes track over to the head of the bed, face pink. I slip my fingers up his neck, looking for contact with that beautiful hair. His breath hitches as I do it, but his lips also arch into a small smile.
I’m a pretty affectionate guy by nature, but it’s usually a personality trait I try and tone down.
I know how confusing it might be to have a partner who can’t keep their hands off you, but doesn’t actually want to have sex.
It is, in fact, the main reason most of my relationships fizzled out.
Mark, who was my last attempt at not being alone, used to get hard whenever I put my hands on him and would angrily complain when I “didn’t do anything about it.
” After a while, it just became easier not to reach for him.
To not kiss the back of his neck, or skim my fingers over him, simply to enjoy the feel of his skin.
After all, I wasn’t going to do anything about it , so better to just keep my hands to myself.
Jack leans into it though, eyelashes fluttering as I look down at him. He inhales deep enough that his shirt stretches around his ribs, the lines visible through the thin fabric.
“I’m nervous,” he mutters, annoyance twining itself around the words. He’s so hard on himself.
“That’s all right.” I brush my fingers through the hair at the back of his head, the silken strands tickling between my fingers. I can’t believe it’s even possible for this color to be produced naturally. Gently, I tilt his face up to mine. “Your hair is exquisite.”
He laughs, a quick, startled sound that sends a blush tiptoeing across his cheeks. I brush my thumb across that too, before dropping my hand to my side.
“I cannot believe, out of all the people in the world, it was me who was cursed with red hair,” he tells me, standing up as I move to the head of the bed and reach for the sheets.
“I like it. Draws attention to the freckles, and those pretty eyes.” I tug down the sheets, Jack doing the same on the other side. “It’s like a sign, letting everyone know to look over here because there’s a beautiful man.”
“So, what you’re saying is you like all the things I hate about myself,” he comments, chuckling and shaking his head.
I frown, not particularly liking that. If Parker told me he hated something about himself, I’d sit him down for a conversation that would embarrass the hell out of the both of us.
“There is no part of you that you, or anyone else, should be hating,” I tell him firmly, which makes him flush around a pleased smile.
I slide into the bed, leaning over to plug my phone into the wall charger.
The mattress dips as Jack joins me, the tentativeness of the movement apparent even without me looking at him.
I click the lamp down to the lowest setting, not wanting to put us into full dark yet, but needing to keep the room dim and cozy. Just us.