Opening Up

by R. J. Moray

  Channon took a moment to think before pulling away to look Jack in the eye. “I need you to tell me how you are, even if it’s not good. And I need you to listen to the doctor and not do things you shouldn’t.”

  “Okay. That seems fair.”

  “And I need you to let me help you.”

  Jack made a face. “I need you to let me do some things for myself. I don’t mean you can’t help,” he went on quickly, “I mean that I need to feel like I’m not useless.”

  It sounded okay. Channon nodded. “All right. Yes, Sir.”

  “And I think you need some downtime.”

  “Sir?”

  Jack smiled, stroking his cheek. “Just some time on your knees. You like it down there, and this is stressful for you, so I’d like to give you a chance to let go of it.”

  “No sex,” Channon reminded him, and Jack’s smile twisted a little.

  “No sex,” he agreed. “And nothing ‘exerting’. But I think I can get you down without it. We’ll see.” He kissed Channon’s brow. “I think we both need a chance to feel like ourselves.”

  By which he meant their dynamic, Channon guessed, and yeah, he agreed with that. He could be good, and Jack could be bossy, and both of them would feel better about themselves and the two of them together.

  He let go of a breath. “Yes, Sir,” he said, and Jack’s smile warmed him on the inside where he hadn’t realized he’d grown so cold.

  ❧

  The sheer relief of talking about it made it clear what an idiot Jack had been. To think of Channon, worrying Jack was going to die, all alone in his head with this awful fear. It was unbearable.

  For Jack, the relief of telling Channon about his worries was tempered by a new one—that Channon might think less of him for it. But Channon didn’t seem disgusted with him, or betrayed. In fact, he seemed only grateful to be let into Jack’s confidence.

  And relieved. God, the relief.

  “Can I make you tea, Sir?” Channon asked, so much hope in his face that Jack couldn’t have refused if he’d wanted to.

  Well. He could have. How fucking stubborn he’d been. Thank God for Channon. “Sure,” Jack said. “Green tea.”

  “The one with the flowers?”

  Jack smiled. Channon had initially reacted to the idea of flowers in his tea with a kind of fascinated horror, but since then he’d warmed to it. “Yeah, that one.”

  Jack leaned on the counter, watching Channon get the cups and the loose-leaf diffuser. His boy had grown so much, shaped into a new person so far removed from the uncertain ingenue he’d been when they met. And yet, he was still Channon, earnest and honest, his heart on display in everything he did. He loved so much. It ached to think of how long he’d been waiting for a chance to show it to someone who could love him back. And that it should be Jack…

  Nate was right, Jack thought. I didn’t think anyone would really love me. Not like this. Worship, maybe. Desire. But someone who knew Jack, really knew him, and loved him in spite of it?

  Channon glanced up, a shy smile on his face. “Sir,” he said, kicking the word up at the end into a question.

  “Yeah, sweetheart?”

  “Um. I wondered.”

  He sounded so coy that Jack couldn’t help smiling at him. “What did you wonder?”

  “Could we, maybe…I was thinking about that list.”

  “List?”

  “We made a list, at the start. Of things I might do, or not do.” Channon licked his lips. “A kink list.”

  Ah. “I remember.” He’d made Channon look up what all the terms meant, and he’d enjoyed Channon’s shock and curiosity over it all.

  “So, I was thinking. It’s kinda out of date now.”

  Because they’d tried some things and crossed some things off. Jack wondered how different Channon’s list would be now, and he realized that was exactly what Channon was getting at. “You want to update your list, sweetheart?”

  Channon nodded. “And, I wondered. Can I see your list?”

  Once upon a time, Jack might have refused. Back then he hadn’t wanted to scare Channon away. But now? “Shall we make new lists together?”

  The way he smiled. “Yes, Sir. I’d like that.”

  ❧

  They took their tea to the sofa, Channon in Jack’s lap with print-outs balanced on his knees. Jack’s kink list didn’t seem to horrify him—he wrinkled his nose at puppy play, but when Jack asked, he said it was the masks, really, he didn’t like. He didn’t want his face hidden, didn’t want there to be any mistake about who he was.

  Jack understood that. Channon didn’t want to be a substitute for someone else, didn’t want to be forgotten. He wanted to know that Jack had chosen him and kept on choosing him, that he was the one who could make Jack’s blood run hot, make his palms itch to touch him.

  It hadn’t started that way, but it was clear now that it was Channon Jack wanted, Channon he wanted to torture in bed, Channon he wanted on his knees, and no one else. At first Channon had liked the thrill of being Jack’s plaything, but now he liked being Jack’s property. Belonging to him. A prized possession. Jack’s treasure.

  “I wouldn’t mind,” Channon said, tapping the paper. “If we did that.”

  Jack followed his glance. Ah. “It takes some planning. But we could plan it, if you want.”

  Channon nodded, his breath gone shallow. He was imagining it now, this illicit thing he wanted. Jack wanted it too, wanted to see it, wanted to wallow in the aftermath. To see Channon’s face, strung out at the edge of his sensibilities. God, he was beautiful when he was being debauched, when he felt dirty and slutty and loved.

  “Anything else you’d like?” Jack asked.

  There were a few things. Channon ticked ‘yes please’ to ‘size kink’ and ‘toys’ with a very pink face, and Jack teased him a little. They still hadn’t had a go with the monster dildo he’d bought for Channon, but it was there, in the back of his mind. Something for a special occasion, or maybe no occasion at all.

  Channon ticked ‘rope’, ‘leather’, but passed over ‘handcuffs’, and Jack couldn’t help it. “Mom suggested you might have trouble getting me to take it easy.”

  “I did,” Channon said, pouting.

  Jack nuzzled his jaw. “She said you might have to handcuff me to the bed.”

  Channon spluttered. “No!”

  “When I told her you didn’t have handcuffs, she said she might buy you some,” Jack teased, and Channon made a distressed sound that turned into something suspiciously like a giggle. Jack made it worse by tickling him, until he squirmed off Jack’s lap and onto the floor with a thump.

  Instead of climbing back up, Channon came around on his knees and pressed his face into Jack’s thigh, his breath hot and damp through the denim of Jack’s jeans. Jack dropped a hand onto his head and stroked through his hair. “Sweetheart.”

  “Sir,” Channon said, but that was all. Jack let him stay there, playing with his hair and marveling at how thick and silky it was. Channon washed it a lot, used a good conditioner, because Jack told him to. He was always clean and groomed, even when he was scruffing around the house in sweats and one of Jack’s old T-shirts. Manicured and pedicured, waxed clean, hair trimmed into a style Jack liked, his skin moisturized and lightly scented. All for Jack. Everything he did was for Jack. How could Jack have thought he’d be any different when Jack was injured?

  “I’m sorry,” he said again, meaning it.

  Channon sat back on his heels, his expression soft and dreamy. “I forgive you.”

  No pretense that there was nothing to forgive. Jack appreciated it, and Channon’s easy forgiveness. Such a good boy. I mustn’t waste him.

  “I won’t hide from you again.”

  Channon sighed, but he sounded content. “May I serve you, Sir?”

  “How?” Jack asked. Channon had been so adamant that they not do anything against doctor’s orders, so he was curious as to what Channon might think acceptable.

  Channon
ducked his head to press a kiss to Jack’s bare toes. “May I worship your feet?”

  Jack wouldn’t say that feet were high on his list of kinks, but it wasn’t unpleasant to be worshipped that way, and he would enjoy a foot rub. “Sure, sweetheart. Go get the massage oil.”

  The look on Channon’s face was blissful as he rose and padded upstairs. He came back with the oil and a towel, and he knelt on the rug to take one of Jack’s feet in his lap. He was careful with them, more careful than Jack would have been, rubbing and kneading with both hands, firm strokes that didn’t tease or tickle. Jack found himself sinking into the sofa, groaning under the onslaught of Channon’s strong fingers. “Sweetheart, that’s wonderful.”

  Channon hummed happily. He felt useful, Jack thought, and Channon liked feeling useful. It was something he liked about as much as he liked feeling wanted, his service kink a Venn diagram of the two. If Channon felt like he pleased then he was pleased in turn, and suddenly it occurred to Jack that there were lots of things they could do that weren’t strictly sex, or strenuous, or risky, that would make Channon feel wanted and useful and like he had pleased his Sir.

  Maybe Jack needed to think more about what they could do than what they couldn’t.

  “That’s very good, Channon,” Jack said. “Good boy.”

  Channon made a sound that was close to a purr, slipping his slick fingers over Jack’s soles. Content. Pleased in himself. Jack’s.

  Just the way they both liked it.

  Chapter Six

  “Feeling better?”

  Jack sighed gustily. “I feel like crap on a stick.” He took a bite of his cruller and chewed it vengefully, but the cruller was too delicious for that kind of harsh treatment. Thanks, Nate.

  Nate nodded, his eyes sliding up over Jack’s shoulder to the kitchen where the boys were making sandwiches. Or, Channon was making sandwiches while Ewan got in his way. “Want me to take the menace home, give you some peace and quiet?”

  “Absolutely fucking not,” Jack told him, and he was rewarded with a grin. “I’m bored out my goddamn mind. I’d take your brat’s company over being alone right now.”

  “Maybe I should leave him here, then. Our boys can have a sleepover.”

  “You want me to babysit.”

  “I want Channon to have some social contact with someone who isn’t you, and when Ewan invited him over this weekend, he said he had to stay home. Because of you.” Nate shrugged. “I figured we could kill two birds with one stone.”

  That Channon would give up time with his friends to stay home and keep Jack company… Ah, of course he would. “I’ll ask him. But if your brat is a pain in the ass—”

  “I’ll take it out of his hide,” Nate agreed. “He won’t. He knows when not to push his luck.”

  Hah. Jack wasn’t convinced of that at all.

  Still, after they’d had sandwiches, Jack cornered Channon in the bathroom. “You can invite Ewan to stay over, if you like.”

  Channon’s eyes widened. “What, really?” He seemed skeptical. “But…not, like, in a naked way.”

  “Did you want him to stay over in a naked way?” Jack asked, willing himself to be neutral. It was one thing for Channon to fuck Ewan on Jack’s say-so, and another to listen to them going for it in the next room when he couldn’t join in.

  Channon shook his head. “No. But, in a not-naked way…”

  “You can invite him, it’s okay.” Jack kissed his cheek. “Go on.”

  So Nate went home, and Ewan stayed at Channon’s request, and Jack watched the two of them argue about music, and let them make pancakes for dinner, because why the hell not?

  Jack’s head started to ache after the first pancake. “I’m going to lie down,” he said.

  “Headache?” Channon asked.

  “Medium-sized,” Jack said, which was true. It could get a lot worse after all.

  “Ibuprofen?” Channon suggested.

  “I’ll take some.” He touched Channon’s shoulder as he went, climbing the stairs to their dark bedroom.

  He could hear them downstairs, talking quietly. When he closed the door, he couldn’t hear them at all, so he left it cracked, not to spy on them but for company. Whatever they were talking about, it soon dissolved into the sound of Mortal Kombat, and Jack smiled to himself—some things never changed.

  He must have slept at some point because he roused as Channon slipped into bed, just enough to wrap himself around Channon’s shoulders, tucking up against him before sleep claimed him again. His dreams were frustrating—he was trying to run a meeting, but everyone kept ignoring him, and then the meeting turned into a seminar, turned into a summit, and no one would fucking listen to him—and he woke somewhere after midnight, hungry.

  When he pulled away, Channon mumbled at him, so he kissed Channon’s cheek. “I’m getting something to eat.”

  “You ‘kay?” Channon murmured.

  “Much better, just hungry.”

  “’Kay.” Channon rolled onto his face and went straight back to sleep. Jack envied him his ability to do that, to turn off and stay turned off all night. The fact that he’d woken at all seemed a testament to how on edge he was with Jack unwell.

  Or had been. He’d calmed down, now Jack was giving him honest updates on how he was feeling. Fuck, he’d been an idiot to think that Channon wouldn’t know he was hiding something, and that he wouldn’t worry. He should have known his boy better by now.

  The guest room door was shut tight. Jack went quietly down the stairs and found the kitchen perfectly tidy. Channon had put the rest of the pancake mix in the fridge, so Jack helped himself to it. There was ice cream and maple syrup, and Jack had the second pancake in the pan when he realized he had an audience.

  “Good morning,” he said. It was about two a.m., and he’d slept, so he felt it counted.

  “Morning,” Ewan said. His hair was ruffled up into an impossible nest, and there was a pillow crease on his cheek. The effect would have been adorable on anyone else, and even for Ewan Jack was hard pressed to deny it.

  “Can’t sleep?” Jack asked.

  Ewan knuckled an eye. “There was pancakes.”

  He sounded sulky, as if the discovery that Jack was making pancakes at two a.m. was somehow a disappointment, and Jack realized Ewan had been expecting Channon.

  Still, there were pancakes, so Jack gestured with the spatula. “Grab yourself a plate.”

  Ewan put hazelnut spread and jelly on his pancakes, to Jack’s utter disgust. It was like he’d been created as a thorn in Jack’s side, everything about him grating.

  Now, Ewan looked up from his plate, frowning a little.

  “What is it?”

  “Do you know what I like about you?” Ewan asked, as if he’d been waiting for the opportunity.

  “What?”

  “Fuck all,” he said crisply. “But Channon’s mad for you, and I like it when he’s happy.”

  “You like it when he fucks you,” Jack said, wondering if this was a fight or something else entirely.

  Ewan scowled. “So what? You like it when he fucks me.”

  “True.”

  “Channon was dead upset when you were in the hospital,” Ewan went on, as if they were talking about that. “I had to watch.”

  “I’m sure that was much worse for you than what happened to me,” Jack said evenly, wondering if Ewan was trying to get a rise out of him.

  Ewan rolled his eyes. “Oh, aye.” He carved off a wedge of pancake, rolled it up, and stuck the disgusting mess in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “I don’t get why you let other people go at him.”

  “Why do you let Nate screw other people?”

  “I don’t,” Ewan said sharply.

  Jack couldn’t help his snort. “I must have imagined it, then.”

  “That was different. And it’s not like I’d let him fuck you.”

  It was surprisingly painful to hear. The idea that it was Ewan calling the shots there, not Nate, not Jack. He disliked it,
but it was only fair. Channon didn’t want Jack fucking anyone else or playing with a sub who might think it meant something. Jack bowed to his whims because he loved him.

  Did Nate love Ewan? If he did, did that mean Jack had their whole relationship wrong?

  There was something about Ewan that Nate liked, that appealed to him in a way Jack never had. If Nate was willing to give up his wandering ways for Ewan—God, that hurt. He hadn’t thought that could hurt so much.

  Why you? And Ewan was right there, looking at him belligerently.

  Maybe that wasn’t the right question. “What is it you like about Nate?”

  Ewan straightened, his eyes narrowing. “His cock,” he said sharply, but Jack just waited for him to go on, and eventually Ewan’s patience ran out. “He’s nice. He’s a cruel bastard when he likes, but he’s…safe about it.”

  “And that’s what you like,” Jack said, unable to hide his skepticism.

  “He doesn’t manipulate me,” Ewan said through his teeth. “He never tried to take advantage of me being naive. And he doesn’t hand me out to his friends like a fucking party favor!”

  Ah. “Which is what you think I do with Channon.”

  “Why not? It’s what bad dominants do.”

  There was too much pain in it, too much un-lanced poison for it to be anything but personal, and Jack thought about the little Channon had shared of Ewan’s past, his fears, and what had happened at the conference. Someone had hurt him. Someone had given him away. And he thought that was what Jack did with Channon now.

  “You understand that not everyone likes the same things,” Jack said, and was rewarded with a ‘piss off’ look. “If I flogged Channon the way you let Nate flog you, he’d break. If I called him a little shit and kicked him when he was on the floor, I’d tear his heart in half. If I dragged him out of a tea party by the hair to beat him, and then fucked him loud enough everyone could hear, he’d die of shame, and I would be responsible for that.” He paused, examining Ewan’s guilty face. “So I don’t do any of those things to him. And the things I do—things you don’t like—are things he wants.”

  “But you made him want them,” Ewan snapped, bristling defensively. “You made that.”