Wrong
Title: Wrong
Author: Amanda, who goes by the aliasapodiopsys
Pairing: Jalex
Rating: NC-17
Summary: "Let's get you out of these wet clothes," he murmurs, and it won't be until later (much later) that he realizes that he took that line right out of some b-movie.
Disclaimer: do not own etc. etc. etc.
A/N: inspired by this tweet. it was originally meant to be a lot shorter than this but it kind of spun out of control and took a mind of its own. i apologize about the ending.
tumblr is here, br0.
come sexually harras my message box.it's into that kind of thing~
Of course it’s on their one year anniversary.
Of course it’s raining.
And of course jack walks in on them with roses in his hand, naïve as fuck. Zack doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed of himself, doesn’t look sorry, and jack knows that this isn’t the first time that him and his ‘best friend’ have hooked up on their sofa.
Rian’s expressionless; Zack’s hand is up his shirt. “Don’t even fucking bother,” Jack says, the roses falling out of his hands and to the floor. He feels tears streaking down his face, hot and wet and hurt, but he doesn’t do anything about it, doesn’t wipe it away. He takes one last look at them, at the adulterous couple, tangled on a couch (his couch) before he turns and runs down the hall, the roses left on the floor in the doorway.
No one runs after him. The elevator's broken so he has no choice but to run down flights of stairs, tears blurring his vision. It's a miracle he doesn't trip and kill himself.
The rain is pouring down now, buckets and bathtubs and swimming pools of it, drenching Jack straight to the bone. He fumbles with his keys, drops them twice before he gets his car door open, gets inside and rests his hands on the steering wheel, tears streaming down his face. As clichéd as it sounds (as this whole thing is) he honestly thought that Zack was The One, he loved him and took care of him. He sees it now though, wonders how he could be so naive and stupid not to see it, not to see that Zack and Rian spent too much time together, were always going drinking or out to the movies or to parties with other friends that Jack 'wouldn't like'.
He wipes his eyes, and he catches his reflection in the rear view mirror. Jack cringes; his eyes are red, his nose is red and there's snot and junk coming out of his nose. He isn't one of those people who looks cute or pretty when they cry.
-
When Alex opens the door, he doesn't expect Jack to fall through the doorframe, arms looping around his neck and sobbing. "He's been fucking Rian the whole time," he says into Alex's neck, his whole body shaking he's crying so much. "We were never anything, I loved him, Alex."
The older man nods, whispers, "I know," into his hair (it sounds sad, almost), rubbing his back carefully. Jack leans into him, into his touch, kind of sags into it, like the life has been sucked out of him. "C'mon,"
He deposits Jack on the sofa that's in his kitchen-slash-living room, stirs something that’s in a pot on the stove and then brings his friend a plate and a bowl - tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. "I hope you're aware of the fact that you're taking my dinner," he teases gently, watching as Jack stares at the food like he doesn't know what it is, doesn't know what to do with it.
It breaks his heart to see him like this, to see his best friend hurting so much. Jack lifts the spoon to his mouth, eating slowly, his hands shaking. He's done after what feels like an hour. He's shaking and it's silent, but it's a comfortable silence, Alex sitting on the sofa next to him, watching through concerned eyes. It's silent for a bit longer, but then Jack's teeth start chattering, and he realizes he's not shaking because of shock or whatever, he's shaking because he's cold.
"Oh," Alex says, and he's come to the same conclusion that Jack has, and he's kind of a really bad bestfriendhosttype thing for not realizing sooner. He takes Jack's hand and pulls him down the hall and to his bedroom, and he does notice how well his hand fits into his own. "Let's get you out of these wet clothes," he murmurs, and it won't be until later (much later) that he realizes that he took that line right out of some b-movie.
Jack seems to be kind of numb, so Alex steps forward, his hands going down to the hem of his shirt and he gets Jack to lift his arms so he can pull it off him, his hair sticking up wildly. He drops the shirt to the floor with a wet, slop kind of noise, not quite looking at Jack because he wants to do things that he shouldn't, not now at least, definitely not now. Jack shivers, goosebumps all over his upperbody.
"Can you do your pants yourself while I find you some clothes?" Alex asks, taking a step back so he doesn't do anything rash, still not quite meeting Jack's eye. He turns around to his closet before he can answer, finding sweatpants and boxers and a shirt for him. He chucks the underwear behind him, waiting an appropriate amount of time before he turns around, and Jack is stood there with his arms wrapped around himself, Alex's boxers sitting low on his hips.
His hip bones are kind of really prominent and he's bordering on too skinny almost; he looks like he's all points and skin and planes, he's close to the point where Alex can count his ribs. Honestly, he was never crazy about Zack, or he way he treated Jack. Alex hands him the sweatpants and Jack gets them on. He takes a step closer to him, holding the shirt out and suddenly there isn't any air in the room, just Alex and Jack and Jack and Alex.
“Uh,” Jack breathes, suddenly overly aware of how close Alex is to him, both of their hands holding onto the shirt. Alex sucks in a sudden breath, taking a step back and turning away from the Lebanese man.
“No,” Alex breathes, more to himself than anything. “I’ll go get you a towel so you can dry off your hair.” He’s gone before Jack can say anything else, in the bathroom down the hall. He grabs a towel off the rack (its black faded to grey and well used) and then splashes some water on his face, not meeting his own reflection in the mirror.
He shouldn’t be thinking about that, not now. It’s wrong, Jack needs him, he’d be taking advantage of him in his emotionally needy state. It’s not right.
Alex returns to Jack, hands him the towel. "I -" Jack starts, but Alex shakes his head.
"I'm gonna go find some ice cream and movies and stuff, okay?" he says, and Jack nods in agreement, rubbing the towel over his head.
"Yeah, okay." he says quietly, his expression neutral.
-
They're curled in the sofa, a bottle of red wine open and half empty on the table and Home Alone on the tv, Jack's head nestled in Alex's lap. Alex's hand is in Jack's hair, scratching lightly at his skull and he keeps making these sounds like a cat, soft mewling purring noises.
His brain is working slower than usual thanks to the red wine when Jack sits up, eyes lidded and their faces close together. "I wonder..." he muses, Alex doesn't know how to say no when their lips connect.
"You wonder what?" Alex questions softly, pulling back from him and his lips with a slightly intoxicated look on his face. He's not sure if it's from Jack's kiss or from the red wine.
"If you taste as good as I hope you do," he murmurs, and Alex feels more than sees him leaning in, their lips worming together in a kiss that feels familiar, like it's something they've done a million times before except that, they really haven't.
Alex presses into the kiss, one hand curved around his hip, the other in his hair, lips moving together with an urgency that Jack isn't familiar with, but he takes it and works with it and makes it his own.
"You taste like wine," Alex breathes when he pulls back because he can't get enough air. He draws kisses along Jack's jaw, down his neck before going back to his lips, kissing him hot and heated and languid. "Bittersweet," he says into his lips, Jack's hands coming up to bracket his neck, thumbs on his jawline and fingertips in his hair.
Jack kisses him deeply, tongue pressing inside and running over the roof of his mouth, hot shivers rushing down his spine. He moves his kisses to the corner of his lips, across his cheek and to his neck, breath fanning out across his skin.
Alex makes soft gasping noises, shifts his hips a little and tries to ignore the rush of blood going south because he can't be doing this, Jack doesn't really want this, he's just upset and hurting and in need of comfort.
Jack's hands move from his neck and skim down his torso, curves around Alex's thighs and pull him up so he's straddling him, presses up against each other, chest to chest. He tips his head back, let's Alex kiss him again, deep and slow.
He can't help himself at this point, knows that he'll probably regret it once it's all over but he's got Jack underneath him, his tongue in Jack's mouth and he can't bring himself to stop.
Jack's hands bracket his hips, fingers touching bare skin just underneath the hem of his t-shirt. One hand slips higher, up the back his shirt, fingers burning like hot fire onto Alex's skin. The man on top pulls back a little, traces his tongue over Jack's bottom lip.
"Could we maybe go to your bedroom?" Jack asks, his voice a low, husky rasp, loud in the otherwise silent apartment. Alex nods, still a little unsure about this whole thing. He gets off of Jack and stands up, watching him apprehensively.
He feels like this is something fragile; it's going to break if he takes a wrong step. This isn't the real world, it feels like something else, a knockoff of the real deal. It's the wrong circumstances because the only reason they're doing this is that Jack walked in on his boyfriend cheating on him, but everything else is telling him that this is right, right, right.
Jack stands and leans down to kiss Alex again, walking him around the coffee table that's in front of the sofa. He's been there enough times to know the layout of the apartment inside and out; he knows where what piece of furniture is, where the doorways are and where Alex's bed is.
It takes a fair amount of time to actually get to the bedroom. Jack keeps pressing Alex up against walls and pieces of furniture, tongues sweeping slowly as their lips are melded together, intense and hugely intimate. Jack's hands slide up Alex's shirt once they're in his bedroom, pulling back only to get the piece of clothing off of him before reconnecting their lips, nipping and pulling it out between his teeth before soothing over it with his tongue.
They end up on the bed, Alex in his jeans and Jack in Alex's t-shirt and boxers, Jack on top as their bodies press up against each other, rolling and touching and trailing hot fire touches across skin.
Alex turns his head away for a moment, breathes in air and shifts up the bed, Jack following with him as he trails kisses down his neck, biting at his collarbones.
He pushes himself up onto his arms, hovering over him and then reaches over to turn on the lamp. "Don-" Alex starts, but Jack shakes his head, a mixture of emotions in his eyes that Alex can't - doesn't want - to read.
"I want to see you," he whispers, biting his lip. "I need to see you."
Alex can't say no to him.
They kiss again, it's a little different from the other kisses, it has a strict purpose, fueled by lust and passion and something that Alex wouldn't ever admit because he can't but love. Jack's hands don't fumble as they go down to the front of Alex's skinny fit jeans, deftly undoing the button and pulling the zipper down. He pulls at them, and Alex lifts his hips, wriggles a little to make it easier to get them off.
They're discarded to the floor, and Jack pushes the duvet up to the end of the bed. "Hey," he says into the quiet of the room, leaning down so they're mouth to mouth and eye to eye. His hands pull at the edges of his boxers until they're down far enough that Alex can kick them off, leaving them to wherever they fall.
Jack sits up, his gaze roaming across Alex's body and he has never felt so naked in front of anyone in his life, hard and curving to the left, so, so exposed. He fights the urge to curl in on himself or to cover up, biting his lip as he stays mostly still. "God," Jack whispers, leaning over Alex again, his shirt thrown behind him, lips curved up.
"Just Alex is good," Alex says mildly, and he's kind of smiling, a nice, sweet smile that is weirdly refreshing.
"Okay, Alex." Jack breathes, and he kisses him at the same time as he curls his hand around his cock, moving languidly and slow. Heat explodes through him, swirling in bright redorangeyellow tendrils through his gut, eyes closed at he moans, soft and low into Jack's mouth.
They kiss for five seconds, five minutes, five hours - Alex doesn't know. He does know that Jack's hand is on his cock, something he's wanted (and fantasized about) since he was at least seventeen. "Lube?" Jack asks when they pull back for air, lungs burning due to lack of oxygen.
Alex turns his head to the side, props himself up on his elbows and opens a drawer in the table next to his bed. He digs around, produces a half empty bottle. "C'mere," he says to Jack, taking his outstretched hand in his own, popping the cap with his thumb and tipping the bottle upside-down. It falls in a clear puddle in the center of Jack's palm, cool to touch. He smooths it around with his fingers, leaning forward to press his lips to the corner of Jack's lips, a chaste kiss in the middle of sex.
Jack pushes Alex back down, kneels in between his legs, nudging them further apart. "Hey," he says quietly, their faces close together again. He starts with one finger, their lips brushing together until he pulls back, watches Alex slowly fall apart under his touch.
"Jack," Alex hisses at three fingers, hips arching as he brushes his prostate. Jack bites his lip and looks up at him, eyes dark brown and pupils blown wide - it's sexier than the images Alex's imagination has provided him with. "Can you just." he breaks off, cheeks coloring a little because he wants so much, but he doesn't want to beg.
Jack crooks his fingers, a sly grin on his face as Alex moans before he actually pulls them out, wiping them on the sheets. Alex takes a breath, rummaging in the drawer again. He rips the foil, rolls the condom over Jack's cock and pours more lube out of the bottle, spreading it slowly and carefully with his fingers.
"How do you want me?" Alex asks, apprehensive again, an almost uneasy feeling in his gut (what if Jack changes his mind, what if he doesn't want it, what it?)
Jack gives him a sharp look, hot and so intense Alex can feel it. "On your back. I want to see you," he says again, voice low and gravelly. Alex leans back, legs spread and feet planted on the mattress, open and waiting for Jack.
Alex's hands rested on the pillow on either side of his head, palms facing up towards the ceiling. Jack bit his lip, eyes locking with Alex's. Neither look away as he pushes in, cautious and clumsy and careful at the same time. They let out a breath at almost the same time when Jack bottoms out, hips pressed against the back of Alex's thighs, eyes shut and mouth open. "Oh," Alex breathes shallowly.
"Yeah," Jack agrees, Alex's legs moving up and wrapping around his waist, pressing back down against him. Jack's hands shift from his hips to his wrists, holding them down, head bowed low. His hair falls forward, brushes across Alex's forehead and then back. Alex can feel the stubble of not having shaved that morning on his cheek where Jack's skin is pressed against his. It feels good, burns just a little, just enough.
He thrusts slowly, gaining speed gradually and Alex's hips raise and arch to meet them, cries out when Jack thrusts a little too hard (a little too good) stars exploding behind closed eyelids. Jack doesn't have a particular rhyme or rhythm, thrusts fueled on concentrated desire and lust and passion.
"Jack, oh." Alex moans, head rolling back and eyes closed, colors flashing bright against the black of his eyelids. He whimpered softly, knowing he was close and not wanting to be - he doesn't want this to end, wanted Jack to continue fucking him forever.
"I - oh - lo-" the I love you that's on his lips dies, biting back a scream as Jack presses dead on into his prostate.
Jack moans (he isn't as vocal as Alex half expected him to be, but that's alright, that's okay because he makes up for it with the way he fucks), their rhythm slowing down instead of getting faster as they tumble closer and closer to the edge. His hands tighten around Alex's wrists when he feels him tensing, trying to reach down and touch himself. "Please," Alex begs softly, eyes lidded and back arching desperately. Jack squeezes tight, hard enough to leave imprints of his hands on his wrists, and then lets go, hand shifting between them and wrapping around his cock, stroking deftly.
"Ah- come on," Alex gasps, his voice raising in pitch as his stomach tightens and swoops, impossibly close to the edge. "Come for me."
Jack utters something, lips moving next to his ear but it's lost in the rushing sound Alex is hearing. He bites down on his shoulder, teeth sinking into his skin hard enough to draw blood and bruise. His hips keep moving, thrusting shallowly into Alex as he came, his moans muffled by his shoulder.
Alex makes a soft whining noise, reminding Jack of his presence and of the fact that his hand is still wrapped around his dick. Jack tightens his grip, tongue soothing over the wound he'd just made with his teeth, a soft moaning echoing Alex's when he tastes the metallic tang of blood. His teeth embedd themselves in his lip, eyes shut tight as he feels it building, fighting back the scream that threatens to rip through him as his orgasm hits him like a freight train. He moans, deep and low in his throat, clenching and shuddering around the other man's cock.
Jack pulls out and ties off the condom, tossing it to the floor to be discarded later as the aftershocks of Alex's orgasm died down.
Jack collapses afterwards, passing out almost automatically. Alex sits up, awake, watching Jack sadly. "But I love you," he whisperes, pressing a kiss to the sleeping man's forehead.
-
Jack sits on the sofa in his apartment, Zack's arm around his shoulders. Alex sits on the chair opposite them, a forced smile plastered to his face - for Jack.
"It was all misunderstanding," Zack says with a sticky sweet smile, turning his face and murmuring something in Jack's ear. Jack's smile isn't fake or forced. It's genuine, gazing at Zack adoringly. "Rian jumped on me, there was nothing I could do,"
Alex can see the lie on his face, can tell that as soon as Jack isn't looking Zack is going to go back to fucking Rian.
He nods, rubbing over the purple-green bruise on his shoulder through his shirt. It twinges; a painful reminder of exactly what he can't have. "I'm glad you sorted things out," he says, his voice hoarse.
As long as Jack is happy.
Author: Amanda, who goes by the aliasapodiopsys
Pairing: Jalex
Rating: NC-17
Summary: "Let's get you out of these wet clothes," he murmurs, and it won't be until later (much later) that he realizes that he took that line right out of some b-movie.
Disclaimer: do not own etc. etc. etc.
A/N: inspired by this tweet. it was originally meant to be a lot shorter than this but it kind of spun out of control and took a mind of its own. i apologize about the ending.
tumblr is here, br0.
come sexually harras my message box.it's into that kind of thing~
Of course it’s on their one year anniversary.
Of course it’s raining.
And of course jack walks in on them with roses in his hand, naïve as fuck. Zack doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed of himself, doesn’t look sorry, and jack knows that this isn’t the first time that him and his ‘best friend’ have hooked up on their sofa.
Rian’s expressionless; Zack’s hand is up his shirt. “Don’t even fucking bother,” Jack says, the roses falling out of his hands and to the floor. He feels tears streaking down his face, hot and wet and hurt, but he doesn’t do anything about it, doesn’t wipe it away. He takes one last look at them, at the adulterous couple, tangled on a couch (his couch) before he turns and runs down the hall, the roses left on the floor in the doorway.
No one runs after him. The elevator's broken so he has no choice but to run down flights of stairs, tears blurring his vision. It's a miracle he doesn't trip and kill himself.
The rain is pouring down now, buckets and bathtubs and swimming pools of it, drenching Jack straight to the bone. He fumbles with his keys, drops them twice before he gets his car door open, gets inside and rests his hands on the steering wheel, tears streaming down his face. As clichéd as it sounds (as this whole thing is) he honestly thought that Zack was The One, he loved him and took care of him. He sees it now though, wonders how he could be so naive and stupid not to see it, not to see that Zack and Rian spent too much time together, were always going drinking or out to the movies or to parties with other friends that Jack 'wouldn't like'.
He wipes his eyes, and he catches his reflection in the rear view mirror. Jack cringes; his eyes are red, his nose is red and there's snot and junk coming out of his nose. He isn't one of those people who looks cute or pretty when they cry.
-
When Alex opens the door, he doesn't expect Jack to fall through the doorframe, arms looping around his neck and sobbing. "He's been fucking Rian the whole time," he says into Alex's neck, his whole body shaking he's crying so much. "We were never anything, I loved him, Alex."
The older man nods, whispers, "I know," into his hair (it sounds sad, almost), rubbing his back carefully. Jack leans into him, into his touch, kind of sags into it, like the life has been sucked out of him. "C'mon,"
He deposits Jack on the sofa that's in his kitchen-slash-living room, stirs something that’s in a pot on the stove and then brings his friend a plate and a bowl - tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. "I hope you're aware of the fact that you're taking my dinner," he teases gently, watching as Jack stares at the food like he doesn't know what it is, doesn't know what to do with it.
It breaks his heart to see him like this, to see his best friend hurting so much. Jack lifts the spoon to his mouth, eating slowly, his hands shaking. He's done after what feels like an hour. He's shaking and it's silent, but it's a comfortable silence, Alex sitting on the sofa next to him, watching through concerned eyes. It's silent for a bit longer, but then Jack's teeth start chattering, and he realizes he's not shaking because of shock or whatever, he's shaking because he's cold.
"Oh," Alex says, and he's come to the same conclusion that Jack has, and he's kind of a really bad bestfriendhosttype thing for not realizing sooner. He takes Jack's hand and pulls him down the hall and to his bedroom, and he does notice how well his hand fits into his own. "Let's get you out of these wet clothes," he murmurs, and it won't be until later (much later) that he realizes that he took that line right out of some b-movie.
Jack seems to be kind of numb, so Alex steps forward, his hands going down to the hem of his shirt and he gets Jack to lift his arms so he can pull it off him, his hair sticking up wildly. He drops the shirt to the floor with a wet, slop kind of noise, not quite looking at Jack because he wants to do things that he shouldn't, not now at least, definitely not now. Jack shivers, goosebumps all over his upperbody.
"Can you do your pants yourself while I find you some clothes?" Alex asks, taking a step back so he doesn't do anything rash, still not quite meeting Jack's eye. He turns around to his closet before he can answer, finding sweatpants and boxers and a shirt for him. He chucks the underwear behind him, waiting an appropriate amount of time before he turns around, and Jack is stood there with his arms wrapped around himself, Alex's boxers sitting low on his hips.
His hip bones are kind of really prominent and he's bordering on too skinny almost; he looks like he's all points and skin and planes, he's close to the point where Alex can count his ribs. Honestly, he was never crazy about Zack, or he way he treated Jack. Alex hands him the sweatpants and Jack gets them on. He takes a step closer to him, holding the shirt out and suddenly there isn't any air in the room, just Alex and Jack and Jack and Alex.
“Uh,” Jack breathes, suddenly overly aware of how close Alex is to him, both of their hands holding onto the shirt. Alex sucks in a sudden breath, taking a step back and turning away from the Lebanese man.
“No,” Alex breathes, more to himself than anything. “I’ll go get you a towel so you can dry off your hair.” He’s gone before Jack can say anything else, in the bathroom down the hall. He grabs a towel off the rack (its black faded to grey and well used) and then splashes some water on his face, not meeting his own reflection in the mirror.
He shouldn’t be thinking about that, not now. It’s wrong, Jack needs him, he’d be taking advantage of him in his emotionally needy state. It’s not right.
Alex returns to Jack, hands him the towel. "I -" Jack starts, but Alex shakes his head.
"I'm gonna go find some ice cream and movies and stuff, okay?" he says, and Jack nods in agreement, rubbing the towel over his head.
"Yeah, okay." he says quietly, his expression neutral.
-
They're curled in the sofa, a bottle of red wine open and half empty on the table and Home Alone on the tv, Jack's head nestled in Alex's lap. Alex's hand is in Jack's hair, scratching lightly at his skull and he keeps making these sounds like a cat, soft mewling purring noises.
His brain is working slower than usual thanks to the red wine when Jack sits up, eyes lidded and their faces close together. "I wonder..." he muses, Alex doesn't know how to say no when their lips connect.
"You wonder what?" Alex questions softly, pulling back from him and his lips with a slightly intoxicated look on his face. He's not sure if it's from Jack's kiss or from the red wine.
"If you taste as good as I hope you do," he murmurs, and Alex feels more than sees him leaning in, their lips worming together in a kiss that feels familiar, like it's something they've done a million times before except that, they really haven't.
Alex presses into the kiss, one hand curved around his hip, the other in his hair, lips moving together with an urgency that Jack isn't familiar with, but he takes it and works with it and makes it his own.
"You taste like wine," Alex breathes when he pulls back because he can't get enough air. He draws kisses along Jack's jaw, down his neck before going back to his lips, kissing him hot and heated and languid. "Bittersweet," he says into his lips, Jack's hands coming up to bracket his neck, thumbs on his jawline and fingertips in his hair.
Jack kisses him deeply, tongue pressing inside and running over the roof of his mouth, hot shivers rushing down his spine. He moves his kisses to the corner of his lips, across his cheek and to his neck, breath fanning out across his skin.
Alex makes soft gasping noises, shifts his hips a little and tries to ignore the rush of blood going south because he can't be doing this, Jack doesn't really want this, he's just upset and hurting and in need of comfort.
Jack's hands move from his neck and skim down his torso, curves around Alex's thighs and pull him up so he's straddling him, presses up against each other, chest to chest. He tips his head back, let's Alex kiss him again, deep and slow.
He can't help himself at this point, knows that he'll probably regret it once it's all over but he's got Jack underneath him, his tongue in Jack's mouth and he can't bring himself to stop.
Jack's hands bracket his hips, fingers touching bare skin just underneath the hem of his t-shirt. One hand slips higher, up the back his shirt, fingers burning like hot fire onto Alex's skin. The man on top pulls back a little, traces his tongue over Jack's bottom lip.
"Could we maybe go to your bedroom?" Jack asks, his voice a low, husky rasp, loud in the otherwise silent apartment. Alex nods, still a little unsure about this whole thing. He gets off of Jack and stands up, watching him apprehensively.
He feels like this is something fragile; it's going to break if he takes a wrong step. This isn't the real world, it feels like something else, a knockoff of the real deal. It's the wrong circumstances because the only reason they're doing this is that Jack walked in on his boyfriend cheating on him, but everything else is telling him that this is right, right, right.
Jack stands and leans down to kiss Alex again, walking him around the coffee table that's in front of the sofa. He's been there enough times to know the layout of the apartment inside and out; he knows where what piece of furniture is, where the doorways are and where Alex's bed is.
It takes a fair amount of time to actually get to the bedroom. Jack keeps pressing Alex up against walls and pieces of furniture, tongues sweeping slowly as their lips are melded together, intense and hugely intimate. Jack's hands slide up Alex's shirt once they're in his bedroom, pulling back only to get the piece of clothing off of him before reconnecting their lips, nipping and pulling it out between his teeth before soothing over it with his tongue.
They end up on the bed, Alex in his jeans and Jack in Alex's t-shirt and boxers, Jack on top as their bodies press up against each other, rolling and touching and trailing hot fire touches across skin.
Alex turns his head away for a moment, breathes in air and shifts up the bed, Jack following with him as he trails kisses down his neck, biting at his collarbones.
He pushes himself up onto his arms, hovering over him and then reaches over to turn on the lamp. "Don-" Alex starts, but Jack shakes his head, a mixture of emotions in his eyes that Alex can't - doesn't want - to read.
"I want to see you," he whispers, biting his lip. "I need to see you."
Alex can't say no to him.
They kiss again, it's a little different from the other kisses, it has a strict purpose, fueled by lust and passion and something that Alex wouldn't ever admit because he can't but love. Jack's hands don't fumble as they go down to the front of Alex's skinny fit jeans, deftly undoing the button and pulling the zipper down. He pulls at them, and Alex lifts his hips, wriggles a little to make it easier to get them off.
They're discarded to the floor, and Jack pushes the duvet up to the end of the bed. "Hey," he says into the quiet of the room, leaning down so they're mouth to mouth and eye to eye. His hands pull at the edges of his boxers until they're down far enough that Alex can kick them off, leaving them to wherever they fall.
Jack sits up, his gaze roaming across Alex's body and he has never felt so naked in front of anyone in his life, hard and curving to the left, so, so exposed. He fights the urge to curl in on himself or to cover up, biting his lip as he stays mostly still. "God," Jack whispers, leaning over Alex again, his shirt thrown behind him, lips curved up.
"Just Alex is good," Alex says mildly, and he's kind of smiling, a nice, sweet smile that is weirdly refreshing.
"Okay, Alex." Jack breathes, and he kisses him at the same time as he curls his hand around his cock, moving languidly and slow. Heat explodes through him, swirling in bright redorangeyellow tendrils through his gut, eyes closed at he moans, soft and low into Jack's mouth.
They kiss for five seconds, five minutes, five hours - Alex doesn't know. He does know that Jack's hand is on his cock, something he's wanted (and fantasized about) since he was at least seventeen. "Lube?" Jack asks when they pull back for air, lungs burning due to lack of oxygen.
Alex turns his head to the side, props himself up on his elbows and opens a drawer in the table next to his bed. He digs around, produces a half empty bottle. "C'mere," he says to Jack, taking his outstretched hand in his own, popping the cap with his thumb and tipping the bottle upside-down. It falls in a clear puddle in the center of Jack's palm, cool to touch. He smooths it around with his fingers, leaning forward to press his lips to the corner of Jack's lips, a chaste kiss in the middle of sex.
Jack pushes Alex back down, kneels in between his legs, nudging them further apart. "Hey," he says quietly, their faces close together again. He starts with one finger, their lips brushing together until he pulls back, watches Alex slowly fall apart under his touch.
"Jack," Alex hisses at three fingers, hips arching as he brushes his prostate. Jack bites his lip and looks up at him, eyes dark brown and pupils blown wide - it's sexier than the images Alex's imagination has provided him with. "Can you just." he breaks off, cheeks coloring a little because he wants so much, but he doesn't want to beg.
Jack crooks his fingers, a sly grin on his face as Alex moans before he actually pulls them out, wiping them on the sheets. Alex takes a breath, rummaging in the drawer again. He rips the foil, rolls the condom over Jack's cock and pours more lube out of the bottle, spreading it slowly and carefully with his fingers.
"How do you want me?" Alex asks, apprehensive again, an almost uneasy feeling in his gut (what if Jack changes his mind, what if he doesn't want it, what it?)
Jack gives him a sharp look, hot and so intense Alex can feel it. "On your back. I want to see you," he says again, voice low and gravelly. Alex leans back, legs spread and feet planted on the mattress, open and waiting for Jack.
Alex's hands rested on the pillow on either side of his head, palms facing up towards the ceiling. Jack bit his lip, eyes locking with Alex's. Neither look away as he pushes in, cautious and clumsy and careful at the same time. They let out a breath at almost the same time when Jack bottoms out, hips pressed against the back of Alex's thighs, eyes shut and mouth open. "Oh," Alex breathes shallowly.
"Yeah," Jack agrees, Alex's legs moving up and wrapping around his waist, pressing back down against him. Jack's hands shift from his hips to his wrists, holding them down, head bowed low. His hair falls forward, brushes across Alex's forehead and then back. Alex can feel the stubble of not having shaved that morning on his cheek where Jack's skin is pressed against his. It feels good, burns just a little, just enough.
He thrusts slowly, gaining speed gradually and Alex's hips raise and arch to meet them, cries out when Jack thrusts a little too hard (a little too good) stars exploding behind closed eyelids. Jack doesn't have a particular rhyme or rhythm, thrusts fueled on concentrated desire and lust and passion.
"Jack, oh." Alex moans, head rolling back and eyes closed, colors flashing bright against the black of his eyelids. He whimpered softly, knowing he was close and not wanting to be - he doesn't want this to end, wanted Jack to continue fucking him forever.
"I - oh - lo-" the I love you that's on his lips dies, biting back a scream as Jack presses dead on into his prostate.
Jack moans (he isn't as vocal as Alex half expected him to be, but that's alright, that's okay because he makes up for it with the way he fucks), their rhythm slowing down instead of getting faster as they tumble closer and closer to the edge. His hands tighten around Alex's wrists when he feels him tensing, trying to reach down and touch himself. "Please," Alex begs softly, eyes lidded and back arching desperately. Jack squeezes tight, hard enough to leave imprints of his hands on his wrists, and then lets go, hand shifting between them and wrapping around his cock, stroking deftly.
"Ah- come on," Alex gasps, his voice raising in pitch as his stomach tightens and swoops, impossibly close to the edge. "Come for me."
Jack utters something, lips moving next to his ear but it's lost in the rushing sound Alex is hearing. He bites down on his shoulder, teeth sinking into his skin hard enough to draw blood and bruise. His hips keep moving, thrusting shallowly into Alex as he came, his moans muffled by his shoulder.
Alex makes a soft whining noise, reminding Jack of his presence and of the fact that his hand is still wrapped around his dick. Jack tightens his grip, tongue soothing over the wound he'd just made with his teeth, a soft moaning echoing Alex's when he tastes the metallic tang of blood. His teeth embedd themselves in his lip, eyes shut tight as he feels it building, fighting back the scream that threatens to rip through him as his orgasm hits him like a freight train. He moans, deep and low in his throat, clenching and shuddering around the other man's cock.
Jack pulls out and ties off the condom, tossing it to the floor to be discarded later as the aftershocks of Alex's orgasm died down.
Jack collapses afterwards, passing out almost automatically. Alex sits up, awake, watching Jack sadly. "But I love you," he whisperes, pressing a kiss to the sleeping man's forehead.
-
Jack sits on the sofa in his apartment, Zack's arm around his shoulders. Alex sits on the chair opposite them, a forced smile plastered to his face - for Jack.
"It was all misunderstanding," Zack says with a sticky sweet smile, turning his face and murmuring something in Jack's ear. Jack's smile isn't fake or forced. It's genuine, gazing at Zack adoringly. "Rian jumped on me, there was nothing I could do,"
Alex can see the lie on his face, can tell that as soon as Jack isn't looking Zack is going to go back to fucking Rian.
He nods, rubbing over the purple-green bruise on his shoulder through his shirt. It twinges; a painful reminder of exactly what he can't have. "I'm glad you sorted things out," he says, his voice hoarse.
As long as Jack is happy.