Opening Up

by R. J. Moray

  “Okay,” Channon said, soaking in exhaustion from the adrenaline of losing Jack. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Just go back to bed,” Jack said. “Don’t worry so much.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Channon said again. He hesitated. “Do you have your phone?”

  “No. I can’t use it, so what’s the point?”

  His voice was tight. Channon wondered if that headache was worse than he was letting on, lying alone in the dark. Still, he crossed the landing, found Jack’s phone, and brought it back to set it on the bedside table. “Call me if you need anything, Sir.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “But anything.”

  “Sure. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Sir.”

  Channon went back to bed. It was nearly four. Too early to stay up and too late to get much sleep, even if he could. He lay there for ages, running over what Jack had said and all his worries about Jack.

  Don’t worry so much. As if that was possible.

  He had to take care of Jack. But he had to do what Jack said. How could he do both if Jack wouldn’t let him?

  ❧

  “You’ll be okay, right Sir?”

  “I told you, I’ll be fine.”

  It was the way Jack frowned that made Channon’s heart sink. Like it annoyed him to be asked, and sure, Channon kept asking, but only because he kept worrying and he couldn’t exactly stop.

  But if he was irritating Jack, then he needed to get a handle on it before he really annoyed his Sir.

  “I’ll call you at lunch,” Channon said.

  Jack’s frown deepened. “It’s fine. You can eat lunch with your friends.”

  But I want to call you. Channon didn’t say it, just nodded. “Okay, Sir. Um. Want me to get anything for dinner? Or there’s chicken cacciatore in the fridge. I can heat it up when I get home.”

  “I’ll take care of dinner,” Jack said, and he sounded exasperated, so Channon ducked in to kiss his cheek and backed away.

  “Then…have a good day, Sir.”

  “You too, sweetheart.”

  Walking out of the apartment wasn’t the worst thing Channon had ever had to do, but it ranked pretty high. He hated leaving Jack alone, hated how he couldn’t stop fussing over him. Jack must have been sick of him by now. God, Channon needed to be unannoying, just in case…

  In case what? In case Jack decided he’d had enough of Channon after all and, what, kicked him out?

  He took a deep breath, making his hands unclench from around the steering wheel of his car. He settled back in his seat, still in the parking lot of their building, closed his eyes, and forced himself to breathe in slow and out slower. Calm the fuck down, he told himself. Don’t freak out.

  When he felt able, he opened his eyes and met their reflection in the rearview mirror.

  Okay. Jack wasn’t going to just kick him out for being annoying. Jack loved him. Jack said so many things that made Channon think their relationship was solid, could withstand anything. And sure, maybe one day something would happen that broke them up, but it was more likely to be Jack slowly falling out of love with him, or something else he couldn’t control. The thought of it hurt, of course, but it wasn’t the same as Jack getting mad at him and throwing him out in the street.

  And even if he did, Channon told himself, because there was that tiny part that still worried, all the same, you’d just go to Ewan’s and cry on his sofa. He can’t turn you away, it’s your fucking apartment.

  Probably some kind of breach of tenancy regulations, but honestly, Channon didn’t think for a second that Ewan would bring that up as anything but a mean joke. So. Worst case scenario? Wouldn’t be the end of the world.

  Except in how much it would be, of course.

  Channon took another deep breath. That wasn’t happening. Jack wasn’t that fickle. Channon wasn’t that annoying. Jack loved him. He was just stressed right now. And Channon needed to make sure he wasn’t stressed, to give him a frictionless environment, make sure he was taken care of in ways he didn’t find annoying.

  He could do this. He had to. This was his job.

  He started the car and backed out carefully. All he had to do was get through today, and go home to take care of his Sir. Easy.

  ❧

  It became almost immediately obvious that Channon wasn’t going to get any work done at all today. People kept stopping by to ask how Jack was doing and was he okay, offering their well-wishes and commiserations.

  Unwilling to give away too much of Jack’s privacy, Channon confined himself to saying pretty much the same thing to everyone. “Jack’s doing a lot better. He’s pretty keen to get back to work. We’ll see what the doctor says. I’ll let him know you said so.”

  Nate, of course, was a different matter entirely.

  “Hey, Channon.” He dropped down on the end of Channon’s desk, the tension around his eyes at odds with his smile. “How are you holding up?”

  Channon fixed his own smile on his face. “Jack’s doing a lot better.”

  “Yeah, I’m more concerned about how you’re doing. I reassigned your tickets,” he added, his mouth softening into something more genuine. “I figured everyone’s been getting in your way.”

  Mortification flooded Channon’s face with heat. Nate had noticed he was behind. Fuck. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t let them interrupt, but—”

  “It’s fine,” Nate said, waving it away. “I’m pretty sure you should still be on leave. But I guess Jack’s driving you nuts, huh.”

  “He’s pretty keen to get back to work,” Channon said slowly, not sure what he should or shouldn’t say to Nate.

  To his surprise, Nate laughed. “I know, right? I locked him out of the system so he can’t jump right back in. Stubborn bastard. Listen, how about you let me and Ewan take you out to lunch, okay? We can get pizza.”

  Channon hesitated. Pizza was a treat. Jack usually wouldn’t allow it. “I can’t.”

  Rather than argue or simply accept it, Nate tilted his head on one side, eyeing Channon thoughtfully. “Busy, or not allowed?”

  “It’s pizza,” Channon said, ducking his head in embarrassment. “It’s a treat. I’m supposed to eat healthy.”

  “Sometimes Jack takes that a bit too far,” Nate said solemnly. “Okay, I tell you what. I’ll get you permission for lunch, if you want to hang out with us. If you don’t, just say, ‘No thanks, Nate,’ and I won’t push. We’re coming over on Saturday, anyway, so it’s not like Ewan won’t get a chance to harass you.”

  Channon swallowed, his throat gone tight. Nate was making it so easy for him. So he said, “Sure thing, Mr Scott. I’d love to.”

  Nate grinned. “There we go. Pick you up at one? Or will you starve to death by then?”

  “I’ll cope,” Channon assured him, knowing he had carrot sticks and a granola bar to tide him over.

  “It’s a deal,” Nate said, and he swaggered away, looking pleased with himself.

  True to his word, at one o’clock Nate swung by his desk with Ewan in tow, and he flashed his phone screen at Channon. “There. Permitted.”

  I’m taking Channon out to lunch. Can he have pizza? Or has he been a naughty boy this past week?

  He’s been perfect. Let him have all the pizza he wants. Tell him it’s cheat day.

  Done! <3

  Hands off, though. That’s my boy, don’t forget.

  Pizza orgy cancelled! :(

  Nate had Jack in his phone as ‘LumberJackie Nash’, which didn’t make an obvious amount of sense. Jack was hardly an outdoors person, and while he was often rugged with stubble, he didn’t have a beard. It must have been some kind of in-joke.

  They had a lot of those, Channon thought as he followed Nate down to Porcini. They’d known each other since college, had been—not a couple, the way Jack told it. Lovers, Channon supposed. Maybe not in love but close, all the same. Best friends with benefits.

  And one of those benefits had been sharing themselves with other people, like,
say, twinky submissives willing to kneel for them both at once. That was, after all, how Channon had met Nate in the first place.

  How intimidating Nate had been then. How thrilling to kneel down for him, a virtual stranger, and hold his dick for him, to be good for him because Jack had told him to. Jack, almost a stranger then too. Channon had given himself to Jack without thinking, and Jack had gobbled him up.

  The thought of it was shocking now. When he’d first gone home with Jack, knowing something would happen, he hadn’t expected any of this. How could he have? He’d been just a dumb kid, awestruck by a guy who looked hot in skimpy swim trunks, too clueless to think of anything except his dick and how Jack’s smile made it twitch.

  And now Jack was at home, recovering from an injury that Channon knew deep down could have killed him, and Channon was…what? Going for pizza instead of being there with him, getting him a cold pack or tea or just staying quiet so he could rest.

  “You look done for,” Ewan said, poking Channon with his menu. “Your old man griefing you?”

  “I’m fine,” Channon said automatically. “Um. I’ll get the Margherita.”

  Nate wrinkled his nose. “That’s a Jack pizza.”

  “I’ll get it with pepperoni, then,” Channon said, feeling defensive and not sure why.

  “No pineapple?”

  “Not on a Margherita,” Channon mumbled.

  Nate chuckled, but he turned to Ewan. “And you’re getting yours deep fried, right? Your arteries are going to clang shut.”

  “Just one slice,” Ewan protested. “Come on, just one.”

  “Sure,” Nate said. “You’ll work it off.”

  It was such an innocent thing to say but it made Ewan’s face flood with color. Channon bit his lip, trying not to grin. It was weird to be on the outside of this, watching instead of squirming with embarrassment.

  Before Ewan could recover himself enough to be obnoxious, the server came back and Nate gave their orders. When she was gone, he turned to Channon with a measuring look. “How is Jack, really?”

  Channon opened his mouth, but the words stuck. The truth was he didn’t know. Jack insisted he was fine, but he’d had some migraines, and they seemed unbearable. He was often dizzy, often tired. And he’d been…not himself. Channon didn’t like to put a word to it because it seemed unfair, but if he had to? He would have said Jack was cranky. Short tempered and curt, and it made Channon anxious to be around him, unsure of what might make him more cranky.

  He hadn’t said anything. How could he? Jack was recovering. Channon was supposed to do everything he could to make sure that Jack was relieved of stress, and that meant that Channon couldn’t be one of the things that stressed him out. So. That left being good, and unobtrusive, and not irritating.

  But when Nate asked, Channon knew he couldn’t lie about it, and he knew Jack wasn’t fine.

  “I think he’s frustrated,” Channon said quietly. It wasn’t a betrayal. He was sure it wasn’t. It just felt like one.

  “Frustrating,” Nate corrected with a shrug. “He’s a pain in the ass when he’s sick. I can’t imagine what he’s like when he’s actually down for the count.”

  Channon didn’t say anything. There was nothing he could say without breaching Jack’s privacy in a way he didn’t feel comfortable doing, even with Nate.

  “Can’t be easy for you, having to be in charge.”

  It made Channon’s brain sort of…record-scratch. “I’m not in charge.”

  “You kinda have to be,” Nate said, and he didn’t say it unkindly, but it stuck in Channon anyway, a knife in his ribs. “Jack’s in no state to be rational, so you have to step up. Or, if you want,” he added, too smoothly casual for it be casual at all, “I can do it. I can call the shots for Jack when he can’t, if you won’t.”

  “No,” Channon said, the word blurting out of him without thought. “I mean…no, thank you.”

  “Okay then.” Nate’s shoe tapped against his under the table, but not in a flirty way. “You’re going to have to be the boss. You’ll have to make decisions for him until he’s better, because Jack? Does not know how to take care of himself. Oh, sure, he micromanages his diet and works out like a machine, but he doesn’t like admitting he has limits. So, when he pushes them, you’re going to have to tell him no.”

  Channon gaped at him. “What?” he squeaked.

  Across the table, Ewan made a rough sound in his throat. “Seriously? Let him make his own mistakes, he’s big enough and ugly enough.”

  Nate ignored him. “Can you tell Jack no?”

  “No way,” Channon said, but then he caught the unhappy look on Ewan’s face. “I mean, I can…you know, I can say ‘no’. If it’s, um. A thing.” When Nate raised his eyebrows, Channon went on, “Like for fun, or…you know, if I really mean it.”

  “He means in bed,” Ewan said, too loudly for Channon’s nerves.

  “What about out of bed?” Nate asked.

  Channon shook his head, unable to look Nate in the eye. No. He couldn’t. Tell Jack ‘no’? The idea was just…No way.

  The pizza came, and Channon found it hard to be morose while he was eating pizza, but he was so tired and couldn’t help his worry. What was Jack getting up to at home? Was he bored? Was he watching TV behind Channon’s back?

  And what right did Channon have to tell him he couldn’t if he wanted to?

  “It’s okay, Channon,” Nate said, sounding gentler than he ever had with Channon before. “I know it’s hard for you. You bend to Jack’s will, and he loves that, but this is…” He trailed off, his expression twisting into something almost wistful. “Jack needs people who care about him. Sometimes, helping someone you love means being tough with them when they need it, and Jack doesn’t let anyone do that for him. You’re different. He lets you get away with things I never would have thought he’d let anyone do.”

  Channon shook his head in mute confusion. He was good, wasn’t he? He did what Jack wanted. He didn’t get away with things. He wasn’t a brat.

  “Stop it,” Ewan snapped, his hands gone to tight fists on the edge of the table. “Nate.”

  “Channon can handle it,” Nate said, not looking away from Channon for a moment. “He’s strong enough.”

  “He shouldn’t have to bully his Dom,” Ewan hissed, down low enough it didn’t carry. Channon still felt his face go hot. If someone overheard—

  “It’s another kind of service,” Nate said, gentleness giving way to certainty in his voice. “If you want to take care of Jack then you’re going to have to tell him ‘no’ sometimes. Just for a little while, until he can take care of himself and you the way he wants to.”

  It stuck in Channon’s head like a burr. Another kind of service. Taking care of his Sir when his Sir refused to take care of himself. Something he had to do.

  He nodded slowly, swallowing to wet his throat. “Okay,” he said. “Tell me how.”

  Chapter Four

  It didn’t take that much effort for Jack to get dinner together. There was plenty in the fridge, with careful heating instructions in Lina’s clear handwriting. Before Channon, Jack had been used to just throwing things the housekeeping service made for him in the microwave, but Channon seemed to enjoy doing some of the cooking, so the instructions were a little more complicated than ‘heat on medium for three minutes, allow to rest one minute, heat on medium for two minutes’.

  Just one more thing Channon did for him, and for which he realized now he should be more grateful.

  He set the table, poured some mineral water into tall flutes, and was ready to plate up the food when Channon came in.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” Jack said. He had an ache behind his eye, radiating up the back of his neck, but he tried to put a good face on it for Channon’s sake. “How was your day?”

  “Okay,” Channon said.

  He sounded tired. He’d been up in the night looking for Jack, so Jack wasn’t surprised. Not sleeping well. They couldn’t have that.

  �
�How about you, Sir? Feeling better?”

  The question rankled. Channon kept asking him how he was feeling, if he were better, and Jack didn’t know what to tell him. No, not really. Actually, I feel like shit. I’m vaguely worried I’m not getting better, but I don’t want to talk about it because that makes it all the more real.

  “I’m fine,” he said, seeing the way Channon’s mouth pinched. Why couldn’t he just take ‘fine’ for an answer? “I hope you’re hungry, after all that pizza.”

  Channon gave him a weak smile. “I only had, like, three slices. Margherita with pepperoni.”

  “Was that enough of a treat?”

  Channon nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

  Because he was a good boy and knew who to thank when he enjoyed nice things. “You deserve it, sweetheart.” Jack’s conscience panged. Channon looked so tired. Not enough sleep at all. “You’ve had a lot on your plate the last couple of weeks, huh.”

  “It’s only been a week and a half,” Channon mumbled. He looked at Jack, and the chair, and seemed to come to a decision, sitting up at the table instead of kneeling.

  It was perfectly reasonable, exactly what Jack would have told him to do, but something about it bothered him. Still, he fetched the plates and sat down himself. “Chicken cacciatore. Bon appétit.”

  “Thank you,” Channon said, inhaling deeply. “It smells great!”

  “That’s all Lina. I just heated it up.”

  Channon smirked a little. “I mean, that counts, right? You always say it counts when I do it.”

  It was a little ridiculous, but Jack accepted it. “So, apart from pizza, how was work?”

  Channon blew out a breath, his shoulders sagging. “I didn’t get a lot done. Everyone wants to know how you are.”

  He said it as if it were inconvenient. Jack felt a twinge of irritation. He was the CEO, of course people would ask. But Channon’s answer… “What did you say?”

  “You’re doing better, and keen to get back to work. Oh, and I said I’d tell you they sent best wishes. I wrote down a list,” and he fumbled in his pocket.