Backlash
Page 11
Gray headed into the kitchen and switched the coffee percolator on.
Jan had gone to the other end of the extreme, going from hating having his privacy broken to needing the security. He’d also arranged the sale of Jack’s old home and this place, handling something that was as hard for him to look at as it was for Jack.
Gray cast a look out the kitchen window. The view was better here. Close enough for the city life protection, but still far enough away to make London a landscape painting from the window.
The coffee finished its cycle as the sound of some 90s rave track came through from one of the bedrooms. A king-size bed kept some inbuilt wardrobes company in one, but as of yet, the new sheets and duvets hadn’t seen any use.
Food was always kept stocked up, just in case, and Gray pulled together a sandwich. It was touching dinnertime, and he doubted whether Jack had eaten. He’d take care of Jan when he got here, but until then.... He took the coffee and sandwich through to the dining room and headed past the main bedroom to the shower. Jack had said he was heading in there, yet no steam swept the tiles.
The door to the second bedroom stood ajar and music caused Gray to wince as he pushed on through. Rave had never been his scene. But what Jack was caught doing? That was something else entirely.
Jan had turned the spacious spare bedroom into a sparring room for Jack, including adding a detachable punch bag that could be stored away when space was needed to spar. It had remained stored and unused in the cupboard space. Now Jack had taken it out, attached it to a hook in the ceiling, and was laying into it.
With his T-shirt removed. blue garage coveralls were pulled down to his waist, the arms fastened loosely around Jack’s hips as he moved. He’d been in here for less than ten minutes, but with the ferocity of each hit into the bag, it already worked up a sweat that trickled down his shoulders and into the dimples on the small of his back. He hadn’t worked out properly for seven months and minimal amount of time combined with maximum effort showed that. But his hits and a rib-breaking roundhouse kick to the bag were as precise as ever and highlighted his Dan grading within Shotokan.
Gray didn’t disturb the fight. Jack seemed lost to the tough workout and music, and Gray watched it play out as he put Jack’s coffee and sandwich on a bench close by.
It hadn’t gone unnoticed that Jack had asked to come home today. It certainly hadn’t gone unnoticed how Jack hit out at the punch bag, either.
I’m not a fucking ponce, Gray.
Resting against the wall, Gray frowned at the call for independence. He looked damn good. A fast run of kicks hit the middle of the bag, followed by a hard turn in body that saw his heel smack into the top, rocking it on its hinges and leaving Jack grunting from the effort.
For a moment Gray glanced towards the window, on anything but the sights and sounds being offered and—
“I can taste you on Martin’s lips. What did he do, mukka? Did he find a way to get to you too?”
Gray focused everything on the London scene outside and brushed distractedly at his hip. “Shall I show you how fucking peachy real bastards get, you fuck?” He’d needed to hurt Jack so badly back there. Sometimes he remembered nothing, and not remembering.... Gray stroked at his hip again. It had nearly killed Gray for a while.
“Here.”
Gray looked away from the window hearing Jack speak. Breathing heavy, Jack had stopped, now hugging the punch bag with sweat running down his face and drenching his hair.
“Stay with me, mukka,” he said softly. “Leave the past out there.”
Gray looked down at his feet, a look that had Jack coming over and slipping his hands inside Gray’s suit jacket, hands resting on hips, then on Gray’s ass. The perspiration lining his body carried a worked-out heat of its own, not helped by how Jack added a little grind of hips into Gray’s, garage coveralls roughing up the cut of finely tailored suit trousers.
The kiss came as hard as a hit on the punch bag, nearly causing Gray to suck in a breath before he had it stolen from him. He tasted a thin lining of sweat on Jack’s lips, then tongue found tongue, slip-sliding and asking for a more brutal remake of Bambi’s attempt to mount Jack. There was no tentative play here; they both came with full-on knowledge on how to get dirty, quickly.
Jack broke the kiss, but lips stayed dangerously close. “Wanna take me down?”
Gray stared long and hard at Jack.
“Here? Now?” The light in his eyes came with such a decadent need, and Gray got a smile when no answer was given.
“Because I remember,” Jack said in a hushed voice, body shifting against Gray’s. He kept switching his look between shared gaze and garage coveralls on suit trousers. “The first time we fucked.”
Gray controlled his breathing as Jack traced the curve of his hip, coming to rest on the buckle to his leather belt. And still those lips were held inches from his.
“You watched. As I lay there playing a blade across my body on your bed, you watched.” With a frown, Jack rested his head against Gray’s. “Fuck. Your bed, mukka. All... all I could smell was you on those black silk sheets... you took the knife from me.” Gray felt his belt buckle slip free and the clasp to his trousers eased open.
“Then you came down on me.” Jack shivered as a slow and long pull came on the zip to Gray’s trousers. “Fuck...” He shifted slightly, almost as if to crawl into Gray’s skin. “You lay there by me when I was so fucking scared of falling, and you eased life by saying submission wasn’t defined by the weight of the chains that held the sub down, or the control of the Dom above him.” A tug came at Gray’s shirt, then stomach muscle contracted as Jack brushed the thin line of hair running navel to pubic hairline. “You said the art of submission, the beauty of submission, it came from the sub himself, how he could sub with no chains present.”
A kiss brushed Gray’s lips and it took all of Gray’s willpower not to groan into it. “And take away the chains,” Jack mumbled as Gray let his breathing match the slow stroke that came above his pubic hairline, “would you still lie beneath me?” added Jack. “It’s what you said, remember?”
Yeah. He remembered. “Don’t do this to me, Jack.” It was a warning, and a clear one. Jack had shown plenty of signs that his body was crying out for some crawl back to normality, but they’d not discussed anything. Jack hadn’t looked ready to discuss anything about even attempting any D/s between the sheets, so—“Look, Logan—”
“You offered me your whole world right there as we lay on your bed that night.” Jack gave a sad smile. “And I called you old friend for it.”
Gray stalled. The name didn’t matter. It hadn’t mattered. The distance had kept them safe over the years. Jack’s fall was controlled, damage... limited. Because when it came to this, when it came to holding Jack like this... it fucking killed.
Jack softened his gaze into something else entirely as he watched Gray. “You remember... I say mukka now”—a kiss brushed Gray’s lips—“know that I mean I’m in love”—a slight clash of tongue came, almost a lick, Jack’s quiet degradation—“know that I mean I’m in love with you. Know that—”
Gray shifted, suddenly pinning Jack against the wall, taking his hands above his head and holding them there. He’d done it before he’d realised, and instantly eased off, loosening his grip, letting his hands slip down Jack’s arms, skating down the thin sheath of sweat, and tracing Jack’s sides.
“Know that after we’d touched and you were quiet,” said Jack, breathing heavy, “I lay there trying to think of how best to hold you, needing to hold you, but all that came out was... mukka. So know that every time I say it now, I’m saying sorry for not having had the balls to say how much I’ve loved you since you allowed me to touch your life.”
Gray remembered the look, how the stray fall of light across the sheets had set the divide as Jack lay there on his side, one arm under the pillow, just watching. There’d been no regret in grey eyes over touch, but there’d been no offer of closing the distance either,
just a grinned curiosity of what else could be offered between the sheets. That’s what it had been back then, right? Nothing else? It couldn’t be anything else, because the way Jack looked now, that quiet watching, it carried every echo of that night, and Gray knew—he saw now that it wasn’t just about touch, about closing distance; it was about growing up, about growing older and learning to move closer. How first loves and touches didn’t come close to being given the rare privilege of being someone’s last kiss.
Gray went in, demanding a hard fight of tongue, wanting to be that last kiss. Jack chased every move he made, bodies grinding into each other, hands sliding down the wall, both wanting to say everything that hadn’t been said all of those years ago.
“Yeah,” Jack breathed.
“Yeah, what?” Gray took deep breaths, calming life and giving a slow run of kisses along Jack’s jaw and the line of perspiration there.
“Take away all of the chains, I’d still lie there beneath you.” A breath brushed Gray’s ear, stilling him. “But lay me there on your bed”—Jack loosened Gray’s tie—“hold me down,” he whispered as the tie wound its way around Jack’s own throat, creating the perfect black choker as the loose ends fell effortlessly over his pecs, “I’d take all of that class, all of that control”—Gray’s shirt was eased open as a kiss brushed Gray’s lips—“and I’d make such a fucking dirty whore out of the classy Dom.”
Gray’s kiss was harder. “Dirty whore?”
“Fucking filthy.”
Gray bit at Jack’s lip, then gave a grin. “And you plan to tempt me down how, Jack?”
Chapter 13
Taking Gray Down
“Take you down?” Up close and personal with Gray, Jack thought about it for a moment, or had the decency to pretend to at least.
“How?” said Gray, harder, faster, feeding the heat.
“Cock of the walk worship,” mumbled Jack, and he gave a nip at Gray’s lip.
“Hmm? Focusing on stylistics and application, just how does that differ from the more typical... cock worship?”
Jack bit his way down Gray’s chest, ending by kneeling there at his feet. Not looking up, he eased the ends of the tie around his wrists, then lay down, shoulders touching the floor, body arched as his knees, still tucked underneath him, eased open. The tie tightened around his throat as the ends circled his hands, the perfect self bondage with black silk tie playing there at his feet.
“Blindfolded exploration of the bastard, all over kiss, nip... lick....” Jack let one end of the tie slip free and traced a touch through the perspiration dampening his abs, deep into the coveralls gathered at his waist. “Because the bastard isn’t led by what’s between his thighs...” Jack swore, his back arching that little more as he stroked himself beneath the protective material of his coveralls. “So cock worship becomes redundant as it’s the bastard himself that demands worshipping.”
Gray eased down and took hold of both ends of the tie in one hand and pulled Jack up to his knees, loving how one hand still played in his coveralls, that dirty smile not shifting as eyes eased open.
“Yet you call me a whore?” Gray tried to not look impressed, but Jack shifted the tail of Gray’s shirt and eased in close. A run of tongue came from hairline to navel.
“Fucking filthy, Sir.” Gentler bites came to Gray’s hip. Jack never went straight to teasing along the cock, but then Gray never liked being played so outright; he liked subtlety, but he liked certitude with it. And Jack... he knew dirty so well.
“Hm,” mumbled Jack and Gray sucked in a sharp breath as Jack caught skin between teeth, hard enough now to bleed his mark. It was always Jack’s claim, one that would bruise at his hip, and so fucking discreetly.
Gray eased a touch along the tie around Jack’s throat, pulling the loop free, yet keeping it around the back of his neck. Silk ran through Gray’s fingers as he took up the slack to each end, wrapping them around his fists, tugging Jack in closer to his groin with it as Jack knelt there.
Jack let his hands trace up Gray’s thigh now that he was allowed to come a little bit closer.
“Always loved your pillow talk, stunner,” Gray mumbled, looking down at him.
Jack’s breath and brush of lip played along the material covering Gray’s cock, forcing out a soft groan from Gray. “And the sub...?” whispered Jack. “How much do you love the sub, mukka?”
Gray lifted Jack’s gaze up to his. “I need to tell you that, Jack?”
Giving a rough snarl, Jack bit at the thickness to Gray’s cock through his trousers, hands already tugging at the zip, then gripping and inching suit trousers down slightly. His cock rolled free from the effort, not fully erect and trying desperately to ignore who knelt at his feet.
Jack gave such a cock-teasing cock of eyebrow seeing it, his You think you’ll deny me for how long, mukka?
A kiss came at Gray’s tip, then all play put aside, Jack took him down to the root, not stopping until the breath was plugged deep in his throat.
“Fuck,” breathed Gray, eyes closing as he let his head fall back against the wall. The tie was still wrapped around each fist, and he played the tension, hearing it scrape the back of Jack’s neck as he pulled him in after Jack pulled back on his cock.
Gray had barely touched anyone for over seven months, not since before Christmas, when Jack had last sat between his thighs in the kitchen. Jack’s neck had been exposed then and marking the skin there had come so fucking easily.
Now, Jack slid his lips along his cock, pulling back, tongue now drag-racing the slit—then he was back down to the root again, taking everything he could so effortlessly and allowing a rub of hand into Gray’s balls to take care of the rest of his tease and please.
Gray chose the pace from there, his pull on the tie and gentle shift of hip as Jack’s lips only kissed around his tip... taking it easy, keeping his handling of Jack, his fucking of his mouth, light, tender. It was a big step, moving from Jack just playing on Gray’s thigh to having the confidence to kneel and take this. Gray was content with the former, to let Jack lay his body against his for a lifetime, if it kept him calm. But this...? Gray gently played through Jack’s hair. It was the sweetest torture, it was—
The sound of a lock being turned had Gray dropping the tie, reaching for his sidearm, and aiming his gun at the bedroom door as someone came in.
Jan skidded to a halt in the bedroom doorway, first seeing Gray and smiling, then spotting the gun in the same instant Gray holstered it. He saw Jack last, surprising considering Jack had just kissed Gray’s cock, then hid his head, cheek pressed against cock, and chuckling as Jan came in.
“I... hmm.” Jan sounded uneasy and Gray inwardly scolded himself for using the gun, seeing the alarm racing through soft brown eyes. Jack got to his feet, his hand staying on Gray’s cock even as he pulled Gray’s shirt tails down to give him some decency.
“I...” Jan scratched at his head. “You... you said dinner. And, but... I came as... as....”
Jack’s touch on Gray’s cock was long and slow as he played the full length underneath his shirt. “Hmmm?”
“You...” Jan shrugged, and his lopsided grin was a surprise as something else crept up. He watched where Jack’s hand teased whilst at the same time trying to look away and not be noticed watching. “You... you both okay?”
“Fucking peachy, things.” Gray got a long kiss on the lips as he looked at Jack. “You see that look in his eyes?” Jack said quietly. He cast Jan a quick glance. “I know that fucking look.” Still that hand stroked Gray’s cock and Gray shifted slightly, now watching Jan too. “Fucking heat...” Jack gave such a long sigh. “All of us,” he said to Gray. “He’s missing all of us, too. But I need to face him first and see if he’s okay. Can I have a moment with him, mukka? I need to tell him about today too.”
Jack pulled away and Gray caught hold of his wrist, stopping him before he cast a quick glance at Jan. “Gentle,” he said in a soft tone. “Read him, Jack. Fucking look after him.”
The look caught so much of Gray. It hadn’t been tainted. With everything Jan had been put through, a stray look could still question the existence of buttercups in a painting over a dungeon full of BDSM equipment. A huge part of him wanted to go with them, the offer was there in Jan’s soft smile, but Jack was right. Jack needed to make sure he was ready for something a little more than frottage, especially with how events had played out today. He needed to see if Jan was okay with only Jack being there with him.
Gray listened as the door to the en suite was opened. The sound of water hitting tile came, but Gray stayed where he was. The tie found its way loosely around his neck, then he tidied himself away before picking up Jack’s coffee. Music from the stereo still played, and Gray kicked off his shoes and padded over. The tastes there cried out Jack, some Ministry of Sound mixes, Basement Jax, with Jan’s eighties touch of Duran Duran and Spandau Ballet.
Gray pulled the latter out, snorting a smile. Jan was modern romantic in music as well as life too.
Andrei Bocelli filled some of the shelves, along with Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, and Pachelbel’s Canon in D minor. Again most of Jack’s taste, when he was going through his... I’m not a boy stage.
Despite a love of the classics, being brought up in the Welsh countryside had given Gray a love for the likes of Metallica and Iron Maiden. Much better to fiddle backstage passes to gigs that could warm the Welsh chill. And the invitation of a mosh pit always had offered a release he never found in VIP roped-off areas. Playing both sides had been a good lesson.
So when Gray caught sight of the Tom Jones CD, he refused to let out a groan seeing it there amongst Jan and Jack’s. Taking a sip of his coffee, he tugged it out, catching the note written on it.