Better Than People

by Roan Parrish

  He watched the color drain out of Simon’s face at the word karaoke.

  “You could have anyone,” Simon whispered.

  Jack tugged him down onto the bed.

  “What does that mean, darlin’?”

  “You could have someone...” He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Jack kissed him.

  “I don’t want anyone. I want you.”

  Simon let himself be kissed but he was zoning out. Jack could practically see the thoughts zinging around in his head as if he were a translucent collection of energy transfers.

  “Simon.”

  “Hm.”

  “Simon,” he said louder.

  “Huh?”

  Simon blinked, eyes wide.

  “Where are you?”

  Simon blinked some more.

  “What are you thinking right now?”

  “I w-want a hug.”

  Relief struck Jack. He hadn’t really expected an answer and he certainly hadn’t expected that one.

  He pulled Simon into his arms and pulled the covers over them. He held Simon tight and Simon clung to him.

  There was so much he wanted to say, but this clearly wasn’t the moment.

  “’M so tired,” Simon mumbled against his neck.

  “Me too. Wanna sleep a bit?”

  “Mm.”

  Simon fell asleep almost instantly. Jack breathed in the smell of his shampoo and the faint wool smell of his sweater. Simon’s breath was warm and Jack was so happy to have him here, in his bed, in his arms. The rest could wait until tomorrow.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Simon

  Simon woke slowly to the sound of Jack’s quiet snores. From the light outside it looked like afternoon, which meant they’d slept for hours. Simon had rolled away from Jack in his sleep. He snuggled back into the larger man’s arms.

  He’d been out of it that morning, but now he could appreciate every smell and sensation, and nothing had ever felt better than being in Jack’s arms.

  He pressed a kiss to Jack’s lips and Jack smiled in his sleep. Simon stroked his hair back and Jack pressed closer. He ran gentle knuckles along Jack’s cheekbone and the several days of stubble gleaming on his jaw.

  “Mmm.” Jack woke, pulling Simon closer. “Love you,” he rumbled into Simon’s ear, then he kissed his ear and his temple.

  Once, as a boy, Simon had been wading into the stream behind his grandparents’ house, jeans cuffed to his knees. He’d seen a fish or a sparkle of sunlight that resembled a fish a few yards downstream and gone to investigate. One moment, he was standing on the slick but solid clay at the bottom of the stream. The next moment he took a step and the ground was gone. He plunged into the water as if water was all there had ever been.

  Jack’s sleep-tender words closed over Simon’s head like the shocking embrace of that unexpected water.

  In the next moment, Jack stilled. Simon could feel him wake fully and realize what he’d said, but he kept his eyes firmly fixed on Jack’s throat.

  “I... Simon, I...”

  “You don’t have to,” Simon said quickly. “You were asleep. I know it doesn’t count—”

  “Would you hush?” Jack said.

  He scooted down so they were face-to-face. His hazel eyes were soft, vulnerable. He cupped Simon’s cheek in one warm hand.

  “Simon, I love you. I’ve never...loved someone before. But I love the hell out of you.”

  “You...do?”

  Jack’s smile was slow and warm, and Simon thought it was for himself, which made it all the more beautiful.

  “I really do. This is how it feels, huh? I’ve always wondered.”

  “But if you’ve never...how do you know?”

  It wasn’t at all what Simon had meant to say, but Jack just smiled and shrugged.

  “Same way I know you love me back.”

  Something warm and light crept through Simon. Something easy and joyous and powerful.

  “Pretty sure of yourself,” he teased.

  He felt as if every muscle in his body had suddenly gone loose and easy.

  “Simon,” Jack said, pouting. “Tell me. Tell me I’m right.”

  Simon’s heart pounded the most beautiful rhythm. He shrugged and arranged his face into a casual, uninterested expression, then rolled onto his back, crossing his arms under his head.

  “Simon!” Jack went up on an elbow and looked down at him. “I love you. Come on.”

  He playfully shoved at Jack’s shoulder but Jack was immovable.

  “See, you’re used to me having a broken leg but now I’m back—ouch.” He winced. “Uh, well, I will be anyway, and then you’re in for it.”

  “Yeah? What am I in for exactly?”

  The teasing fell away. Jack swung a knee over and suddenly Simon was looking up into his face as Jack straddled him.

  Jack’s eyes were intent on his, then they were kissing. Kissing like the world would end. Jack’s mouth was hot and his hands were everywhere. They’d never been in this position before and it was instantly Simon’s favorite thing. Jack above and around him, the bed below him. There wasn’t a molecule of him unoccupied.

  Jack slid a questing hand under his sweater, running fingers along his ribs and around his belly button, then brushing his nipples. Simon slung arms around his neck and chased his mouth when Jack pulled back.

  “Simon.”

  Simon groaned as Jack touched him, strong fingers stroking his cock through his pants.

  “Simon, tell me.”

  If Simon could have formed the words, they would have been something like: Jack, I’m so in love with you. I’m so in love with you that when I thought you didn’t want me something inside me died. I want to stay here with you, forever, like this.

  Jack got his pants open and Simon tried to wiggle out of them but they got stuck around his thighs. Jack didn’t seem to care, though. He dragged Simon’s underwear down and his first rough stroke to Simon’s cock made Simon gasp. He felt warm and relaxed and so turned on he never wanted it to end.

  Jack wasn’t letting him do anything but kiss him and hold on to him.

  “Simon,” Jack said hot in his ear, demanding and plaintive. “Simon, tell me you love me.”

  Simon gasped as Jack worked him, hard and fast and so damn sweet. He opened his mouth to moan and saw a flicker in Jack’s eyes. Just the tiniest falter, as if he might not be as sure of Simon’s feelings as he pretended.

  Simon felt heat gathering in his balls and his guts and he clenched his stomach.

  “I love you,” Simon gasped. “I love you, Jack, please, I love you.”

  Jack’s expression was so joyful Simon wanted to cry. Instead, Jack twisted his fist and pleasure blasted through Simon. He came hard and hot over Jack’s hand.

  Jack groaned and dropped his forehead to Simon’s.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you, thank god.”

  Simon stroked Jack’s back the way Jack had done so many times to him and Jack kissed Simon’s cheek.

  “Love you,” he murmured and Simon murmured it back.

  “Want you,” Jack said, pressing his hard cock against Simon’s hip.

  “I’m yours,” Simon said, and he’d never meant anything more in his life.

  Their clothes were gone in seconds and Jack fumbled lube and a condom from the nightstand. Simon still wasn’t quite used to the sensation of fingers breaching him. It took a few moments for his body to adjust. But Jack seemed like he’d happily finger him forever, so Simon enjoyed it.

  “You’re so fucking hot like this,” Jack said. “I love watching your ass take my fingers. Love the way you make that little sound every time I slide inside you.”

  Simon’s breath caught as Jack touched him deeper inside.

  “Y
eah, that one.”

  Jack bent and took Simon’s cock in his mouth, cleaning off his come and getting him half hard again in the process. Jack swallowed around him while he stroked over his prostate and Simon was writhing again.

  “Yeah, baby, that’s fucking gorgeous.”

  “Jack,” Simon moaned. He could never find words when he was in bed with Jack. It was as if his mouth was made only for kissing and sucking and all other communication was in the language of touch.

  “I love you, Simon, fuck I love you.”

  Jack pushed inside him and they both groaned. Jack looked down at him, hazel eyes heavy-lidded with desire. They breathed each other’s air and Simon smiled. He had never felt closer to anyone.

  When Jack started to move, Simon squeezed his eyes shut and hung on, pulling his knees up so that Jack could fuck him deeper, harder. As Jack pulled him down at the shoulders and snapped his hips into him, Simon realized what he’d meant when he’d said he couldn’t wait to fuck Simon after he got his cast off. The position was so intimate, Simon couldn’t help but feel every breath and touch.

  Just when Simon thought he couldn’t take any more Jack shifted his hips up and each stroke drove Simon closer and closer to the edge. Jack closed a hand around his cock and Simon exploded, convulsing and babbling nonsense as the pleasure took him apart.

  As his head swam, he heard Jack groan, and then he was crushed against Jack’s chest as Jack lost it inside him.

  “Fuuuck,” Jack moaned, turning them to their sides as he collapsed so he didn’t crush Simon and burying his face in Simon’s neck.

  Simon made a noise he hoped sounded like agreement but he was too fucked out to speak.

  * * *

  Later they dragged themselves out of bed and showered, but couldn’t stop touching. Jack kept putting his lips to Simon’s skin and mouthing something that Simon was pretty sure was I love you. It flushed him so full of joy that he mistook the feeling in his stomach for elation until it growled loudly enough to remind him there was a world outside of Jack.

  But even as they ate, Simon couldn’t stop reaching out to prove to himself with his own two hands that Jack was his for the touching.

  When it was time for the animals’ evening walk, they clipped on leashes together and walked out the door. This felt nothing like Jack’s pained attempt to accompany them on his crutches. Jack’s gait was uneven, but they strolled slowly together, not speaking, as if they had taken this walk a hundred times before.

  And they had. Just not together.

  Jack held Bernard’s and Rat’s leashes and Simon held Puddles’ and Dandelion’s. The dogs seemed delighted by this turn of events, happily sniffing and bumping at both their legs to start, then repeatedly weaving their leashes together, leaving Jack and Simon to navigate a nearly constant game of cat’s cradle to untangle them.

  Pirate pranced boldly in the lead, caring nothing for the chaos unfolding behind her.

  “I wanted this,” Jack said after they’d walked a while. “Once we started...you know, every time you’d leave with them I wished I was going with you.”

  It was so similar to what Simon had wished every time he’d been out here that it gave him chills.

  “Me too.”

  They paused in a clearing and let the dogs off-leash to run around for a little while.

  “I was thinking,” Simon said. “You should write it anyway. The book about you and Charlie. If it matters to you, then you should do it and screw that g-guy.”

  Jack pressed his back against the trunk of a nearby tree and kissed him senseless.

  “Thanks,” Jack said. “I could. But I’m not sure I need to anymore.”

  “What changed?”

  Jack cracked his knuckles and stared thoughtfully at the sky.

  “It was the first thing I ever thought of doing by myself. The writing, the story, the drawing. That was a big deal to me. But... I don’t know, it’s not the only story I can tell. It was Davis’ betrayal that hurt the most. The fact that he’d do that to me. But now that it’s done, maybe I don’t want to write about the past. Maybe I want to write something completely new.”

  Jack leaned in and kissed him gently on the lips.

  “Completely new sounds good to me,” Simon agreed.

  Chapter Twenty

  Jack

  If you had asked Jack Matheson six months ago whether love could heal a hurting heart, he’d have scoffed. And sulked. And scoffed some more.

  Now, three weeks after telling Simon Burke he loved him and learning he was loved in return, Jack found himself in the curious position of feeling like a new man.

  Not because this new love had erased past scars. Those were still there. But because it provided him with a true north that pulled all other things into alignment.

  Love was the morning mist in the Wyoming mountains—billions of water droplets containing whole worlds, suspended in air.

  It had been three weeks since they’d said I love you, and now Jack was learning who boyfriend-Simon was. Learning his nature and behavior the way he’d done with each new animal that joined his pack; with each figure he taught himself to draw. If you could learn the truth of a creature then you could provide what it needed, represent it faithfully.

  Simon was spending more and more time at Jack’s cabin during the days, bringing his computer and working at the kitchen table. After a few hours he’d move to sit on the floor in the living room with his back against the couch so he could touch all the animals. They’d arrange themselves around him like a sundial and Jack would find him with his computer resting precariously on one knee to accommodate Dandelion sprawled over his feet, Bernard’s head on his thigh, and Mayonnaise draped half on the couch and half on his shoulder.

  Though the position was clearly awkward, Simon would look up and smile at him, playing with Bernard’s soft ears with one hand and holding his computer up with the other.

  One afternoon he was pulled from his desk by the unfamiliar sound of Simon ranting at his computer, beautiful face twisted into a scowl.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He was met with a furious explanation that he didn’t properly understand about why Bill fucking Einhorn was a fucking asshole who was making Simon’s life miserable and ruining his design.

  “I could kill him!” Simon concluded.

  Since he couldn’t offer anything in the way of content-based assistance, Jack said, “Wanna hit things with an axe?”

  “Yes,” Simon said without hesitation.

  Which is how Jack came to know that when Simon got mad he got mad, and also that he looked incredibly hot with his face flushed from exertion, his muscles taut, and his hairline damp with sweat.

  He learned that Simon liked to wake up with Jack’s arms wrapped tight around him so that if his heart decided to start pounding or his breath decided to stutter, Simon would know that Jack had him.

  The first time they’d gone grocery shopping together had made Jack’s week. He didn’t know why he’d fixated on that particular marker of togetherness, but walking through the brightly lit aisles with Simon had filled him with a deep satisfaction. He’d never done it with a date before. He could only ever remember going with his mother when she forgot and had to zip out at the last minute.

  Simon had been grumpy about Jack’s glee and Jack knew he’d really been scared the experience wouldn’t live up to Jack’s expectations of boyfriend-ness, though Jack had told him a hundred times that he didn’t have expectations. When Simon had reached for his arm in the check-out line, Jack had pulled him close with an arm around his waist and felt Simon exhale and press closer and he’d been filled with utter smug contentment.

  He’d begun going to dinner at Simon and Jean’s on Tuesday and Friday nights, so he learned that when Simon and Jean had a few glasses of wine together they were funny and giggly and got extremely
passionate about embroidery. And knitting. And tatting lace.

  In theory, Jean was teaching him to bake, but Jack preferred sitting on the stool in the kitchen and watching Simon and Jean’s practiced ballet of baking together, listening to them finish each other’s sentences. “Should we add more—?”

  “Yes, because of the—”

  “That’s what I thought too.”

  Once Jack fell asleep in the armchair while Simon and Jean watched a Hedy Lamarr movie and woke to find a hand-knit blanket tucking him in and a note from Simon that said If you wake up, come downstairs, to which Jean had added the following proviso: Or come upstairs ;). Jack laughed and left the note on the kitchen counter with a heart on it for Jean before he went downstairs and told Simon.

  “What do you think she’d do if I actually did go upstairs?” he asked, nuzzling at Simon’s ear.

  “Probably hit you with the baseball bat she keeps under the bed.”

  * * *

  “It’s not our first date,” Simon insisted again. “We’ve eaten meals and watched movies and gone on walks and—and you’ve devirginized the hell out of me.”

  “Yeah, I did,” Jack growled into the phone. “Still. First date as far as I’m concerned. Want me to pick you up or do you want to pick me up?”

  Simon’s sigh wasn’t audible but Jack could sense it.

  The date had been Simon’s idea.

  He’d woken Jack up early a few days before, straddled his hips, and told him, eyes burning, that he and Jack were going on a date. Jack had put him off, stroking hands down his sides and telling him in no uncertain terms that they did not have to do it. That he’d meant it when he’d said they didn’t need to eat dinner out to be happy.

  That was how Jack came to know that when Simon put his mind to something he was immovable. And though Jack was pretty sure Simon had only offered for his benefit, Jack wasn’t about to tell him he couldn’t do it.

  Now, Simon’s nerves were coming out in arguing over the details.

  “Simon, you know we don’t have—”