Chapter Eighteen Soft Collapse #4
So without rushing, Jake hooked a finger beneath Harrison’s tie, loosening the knot and tugging it free, letting it drop somewhere behind them.
Usually, that would’ve been the point where things sped up.
Clothes off. Hands everywhere. Mouths wherever they could reach.
Get naked, get on the mattress and get to the part they were both there for.
Jake knew how to do that.
This, apparently, he wanted to take his time with.
He found the first button on Harrison’s shirt and worked it open.
Then the next. Slowly. Not because his fingers were fumbling or because he didn’t know what came after.
Christ, he knew exactly what came after.
He could already imagine Harrison without the shirt, without the trousers, without any of that careful, polished armour between Jake’s hands and his skin.
But for once, getting a man naked wasn’t the only thing Jake was thinking about.
He wanted to feel Harrison getting there.
Wanted every little reaction along the way.
And he kept kissing him as he worked the buttons open. His mouth. His jaw. The roughness of stubble beneath Jake’s lips as he moved lower, finding the warm line of his throat.
Harrison tipped his head back, pulse hammering hard beneath Jake’s mouth, quick and uneven, and Jake pressed his lips onto it, feeling every frantic beat.
“Fuck…” Harrison breathed out and raked his fingers through Jake’s hair to keep his mouth pressed to his throat.
Fuck, Jake liked that.
Liked hearing that immaculate fucking control coming apart beneath his mouth. And suddenly taking his time didn’t feel like restraint at all.
It felt like getting exactly what he wanted.
Then Jake felt the unmistakable pressure between them.
Hard.
A grin tugged at Jake’s mouth as he pressed another kiss beneath his ear. “You’re very hard, Detective.”
Harrison shivered.
Jake liked that far too fucking much.
“Can’t be thinking straight like this.” He moved closer until there was nothing left between them, letting Harrison feel that he wasn’t exactly doing much better. “Could fix that for you.”
Harrison’s breath caught, and Jake took that for what it sounded like. Want. So he slid his hand down between them and cupped Harrison through his trousers.
Christ.
Rock fucking hard.
So was Jake, to be fair, but there was something about feeling Harrison like that, as if almost ready to explode, that sent a rush of heat straight through him. All that control. The immaculate suit. The measured voice. And underneath it, Harrison was this fucking turned on.
Jake stroked his thumb slowly over him.
Harrison sucked in a breath.
His body reacted beneath Jake’s palm, and Jake felt another kick of want low in his stomach. He wanted to know more. What Harrison liked. What made him lose that careful control. What sounds he made when Jake got it right.
So he did it again.
Then Harrison’s hand snapped around his wrist. “Wait.”
Jake looked up. “You alright?”
Harrison didn’t answer.
The colour had drained from his face. His eyes were shut, breathing suddenly too quick and too shallow. Nothing like the ragged breaths Jake had been coaxing out of him seconds earlier.
This wasn’t pleasure.
“Harrison?”
“Just…” Harrison swallowed, tightening his grip around Jake’s wrist. “Wait.”
Jake didn’t move.
Didn’t pull his hand away either, because Harrison was still holding it there, and Jake wasn’t going to make that decision for him.
But the change was so fucking sudden Jake could barely understand it.
Harrison was still hard beneath his palm.
Still physically responding to him. But every other part of him had locked tight.
Any thought Jake had about his own dick disappeared behind concern.
“Want me to take my hand away?”
Harrison finally opened his eyes. For a second, he just looked at Jake. Then he loosened his grip on Jake’s wrist. “Yeah.”
So Jake did, and Harrison tipped his head back against the wall to drag in a breath.
Another followed, shaky and uneven. Then he scrubbed a hand over his mouth and pressed the heel of it hard against one eye, as if he pushed hard enough he might somehow get everything back where it belonged before Jake saw it.
Bit fucking late for that.
Jake stayed where he was. Close enough if Harrison needed him, but with his hands firmly to himself. “Talk to me.”
“That’s usually my line.”
“Aye, well.” Jake leaned back a fraction, trying to give him space without making it feel as if he was retreating. “You’re kinda making this weird now.”
The corner of Harrison’s mouth twitched.
So Jake grabbed onto that miniscule hope this wasn’t over by going for something light. “Thought we were getting a decent rhythm there, then you stopped me halfway through the beat.” He smiled. “Coulda given me a bit more warning when you wanted an interval.”
Harrison opened his eyes.
And the need to joke died in Jake’s throat.
Christ.
There was too much there. Grief, mostly. Jake recognised that bastard easily enough. But there was shock, too. Confusion. Something raw and frightened that looked completely fucking wrong on a man Jake had only ever seen controlled.
“Harrison…”
Harrison looked away. “Can you not look at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m…” He stopped, throat working as he tried again. “Like I’m about to break down.”
Jake held his gaze. “You are a bit.”
Harrison gave a broken little laugh and closed his eyes again. Jake didn’t move. Then Harrison opened his eyes and just stared at him, as though he couldn’t bring himself to speak.
“Whatever’s happening here, you can trust me with it.” Jake shrugged, keeping it deliberately easy. “Like I’m trusting you.”
A strained smile touched Harrison’s mouth. Brief, but real. And Jake thought maybe Harrison understood what he meant. Jake wasn’t going to patronise him. Wasn’t going to pretend he couldn’t see the cracks simply because Harrison would rather keep them hidden.
More importantly, he wasn’t going to stick his fingers into them and start pulling.
Harrison swallowed. Looked away. “I haven’t…” He stopped. Started again. “Not since Chris.”
Oh.
Jake drew a breath.
Right.
That was…a lot.
Jake’s chest pulled painfully tight, but he kept his mouth shut. Because Harrison hadn’t told him that so Jake could make it better. He certainly hadn’t told him so Jake could start asking questions. He’d simply handed Jake something fragile and trusted him not to fuck around with it.
So Jake didn’t.
He didn’t rush in with sympathy. Didn’t reach for him, despite every instinct suddenly telling him to. Didn’t make Harrison give him anything else.
The man was hanging on by his fucking fingernails.
The least Jake could do was give him somewhere safe to hang.
Then Harrison gave a small nod, as if even admitting that had cost him something. “And I thought maybe I could.” His laugh was barely there. Bitter around the edges. “Apparently, I wildly overestimated myself.”
Jake stumbled back, catching himself on the edge of the kitchen counter opposite, giving Harrison room without leaving him alone in it. “You don’t have to make a joke of it. Not summat this serious.”
“Trust me, I’m not.” Harrison rubbed a hand over his face again. “I’m trying very hard not to have some sort of humiliating emotional event in your flat.”
Jake huffed a soft breath. “Think we’re already in the event, detective.”
The silence that followed felt different. Thinner. Stripped back.
Jake studied him, then, “You want me further away?”
Harrison looked at him. “No.”
“Alright.” Jake pushed away from the counter and stepped closer. Slowly. No assumptions. “What d’you need from me?”
Harrison stared at him for a moment. “I… don’t know.”
“Okay.”
Jake waited.
He could do that. Apparently.
Except standing there watching Harrison try to pull himself back together was doing horrible things to his chest, and every instinct Jake had was telling him to reach for him.
Just not in the way he had before.
“Can I touch you?”
Harrison’s eyes flicked to his.
“Not like that.” Jake raked a hand through his hair, dragging it back from his face. Christ, why was this suddenly harder to ask for than sex? “I mean just… hold you or summat. Would that be alright?”
Harrison’s throat moved. “Yeah.”
Jake closed the last bit of distance between them. No kiss. No hands heading south. Nothing expected in return. He lifted one hand slowly and settled it against the side of Harrison’s neck, palm warm against his skin, fingers curving gently around the back.
Harrison closed his eyes.
And somehow that tiny bit of trust hit heavier than having Harrison hard beneath his hand five minutes ago.
Jake stroked his thumb beneath Harrison’s jaw. “There y’are.”
Harrison seemed to give then. A quiet yielding.
Loosening his shoulders. As if holding himself together had suddenly become more tiring than letting Jake see a little of the damage.
So Jake drew him in, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, careful and unshowy, giving him an out if he wanted it.
But Harrison didn’t want it. He stood there, stiff with the habit of resistance, before his forehead came to rest on Jake’s shoulder.
That felt bigger than the kiss had.
Bigger than the hard-on pressing uselessly between them.
Bigger than almost.
So he tightened his arm around him, drawing him a fraction closer, bringing his other hand up to the back of Harrison’s neck.
After a while, Harrison let out a long breath against him. “This is not especially dignified.”
Jake tipped his head, pressing his mouth to Harrison’s ear. “What? Tough detective crying on a prime suspect’s shoulder with his shirt half undone?” He lifted the corner of his mouth. “Bet this is your play. How you get confessions.”
“It’s very much not.” Harrison lifted his head. “Crying’s not a recognised interview technique. Not in the Met, anyway. Can’t confirm for Yorkshire yet.”
“Never been tried on me.”
Harrison snorted, then sobered. “I’ll wager you don’t often have men cry when you’ve touched them.”