(no subject)
'Ten minutes', Vincent had said. 'Wait here ten minutes and then come in, there's something I want you to see.' So Gil had agreed, because what else could you do when Vincent was smiling like that-- you went along with what he wanted, and hoped that you wouldn't come out on the other side more traumatized for it. He'd waited obediently, timing it on the watch Jack had given him for Christmas (self-winding, kept perfect time, a real work of art like all the pieces Jack made). He counted until ten minutes and thirty seconds before taking a deep breath and trying the door. --It was open, so he stepped inside, golden eyes searching for sign of either man. No, no Vincent, no Jack.. but the bedroom door was ajar, and he could hear muffled sounds inside.
This was a bad idea. This was a bad idea and he knew it, and he knew just as well that Vincent would be unhappy with him if he didn't go through with it-- so to the door he stepped, pushing it open just a little and peering in.
And then he froze.
Jack. And Vincent. On the bed. Naked. They were slightly skewed across the coverlet, so Gil could see everything. He'd never.. never even imagined.
A soft moan broke through the soft, panting breaths, and Gil realized with a start that it was Jack who'd made the sound. Jack, who had been caretaker, protector, parent. He was gold all over, golden skin and the long, wavy tumble of his pale gold-blond hair over his shoulders and down the slender back. He was seated on Vincent's lap, hands braced against the younger man's chest, moving. Moving like that, up and down, slick, wet sounds of Vincent's cock disappearing inside him. Shuddering. And there were hands on his hips, slender, tapered fingers-- delicate. Gil knew those hands, his brother's hands. His brother's body. His brother, beautiful pale Vincent, propped against pillows and urging Jack on with soft sounds, softer words, possessive hands. The tangled fall of his hair in his face, obscuring the golden half of his gaze, leaving crimson burning like brimstone in his face-- as if he could simply devour the man in his lap. As if he'd been starving all this time, and only now was he finding sustenance.
He'd always known-- he'd always known that Jack had been important to Vincent, but he'd never quite realized how far the need had extended.
Vincent's hips bucked up, and Jack bit off a cry just barely, leaning down to snatch a kiss from the younger man's mouth, his hair falling forward to hide their faces, and Gil barely managed to keep from making a sound of his own. He bit down on his hand, unable to tear his eyes away from the arch of Jack's back, the gentle curve of Vincent's thighs. He could feel how hot his face was-- at any moment, he was sure he'd simply catch on fire. But more than that, the heat was pooling in his belly, as well. This was-- embarrassing and.. strange and wrong, but-- in a way, he was almost jealous. In a way, he wanted to be there, too, between them, the focus of their attentions.
On the bed, the kiss ended, and Vincent sat up, hands tightening on Jack's hips, rocking sharply up into him as he hooked his chin against the older man's shoulder. And then-- his eyes met Gil's, and his lips curved in a smug smirk.
'Surprise.'
This was a bad idea. This was a bad idea and he knew it, and he knew just as well that Vincent would be unhappy with him if he didn't go through with it-- so to the door he stepped, pushing it open just a little and peering in.
And then he froze.
Jack. And Vincent. On the bed. Naked. They were slightly skewed across the coverlet, so Gil could see everything. He'd never.. never even imagined.
A soft moan broke through the soft, panting breaths, and Gil realized with a start that it was Jack who'd made the sound. Jack, who had been caretaker, protector, parent. He was gold all over, golden skin and the long, wavy tumble of his pale gold-blond hair over his shoulders and down the slender back. He was seated on Vincent's lap, hands braced against the younger man's chest, moving. Moving like that, up and down, slick, wet sounds of Vincent's cock disappearing inside him. Shuddering. And there were hands on his hips, slender, tapered fingers-- delicate. Gil knew those hands, his brother's hands. His brother's body. His brother, beautiful pale Vincent, propped against pillows and urging Jack on with soft sounds, softer words, possessive hands. The tangled fall of his hair in his face, obscuring the golden half of his gaze, leaving crimson burning like brimstone in his face-- as if he could simply devour the man in his lap. As if he'd been starving all this time, and only now was he finding sustenance.
He'd always known-- he'd always known that Jack had been important to Vincent, but he'd never quite realized how far the need had extended.
Vincent's hips bucked up, and Jack bit off a cry just barely, leaning down to snatch a kiss from the younger man's mouth, his hair falling forward to hide their faces, and Gil barely managed to keep from making a sound of his own. He bit down on his hand, unable to tear his eyes away from the arch of Jack's back, the gentle curve of Vincent's thighs. He could feel how hot his face was-- at any moment, he was sure he'd simply catch on fire. But more than that, the heat was pooling in his belly, as well. This was-- embarrassing and.. strange and wrong, but-- in a way, he was almost jealous. In a way, he wanted to be there, too, between them, the focus of their attentions.
On the bed, the kiss ended, and Vincent sat up, hands tightening on Jack's hips, rocking sharply up into him as he hooked his chin against the older man's shoulder. And then-- his eyes met Gil's, and his lips curved in a smug smirk.
'Surprise.'