An Artist's Touch - Part Four

[elise_509]

Series: An Artist’s Touch
Part: 4/5
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jack/Sawyer
Spoilers: None - AU
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Previous Parts: 1 | 2 | 3

James watches Jack from across the room as he sits in the lumpy, used armchair that he had picked up secondhand from a Salvie's downtown. His fingers absentmindedly pick at the ripped seam along the right arm, small bits of yellow spongy cushion breaking off in his grasp and falling to the wood floor. He doesn't even realize his movements are causing tiny showers of destruction; his thoughts are completely focused on the man sleeping soundly in his bed, wrapped up in his sheets, face buried against his pillow.

His other hand clutches the pencil in his grasp, tapping the end of it lightly against the sketch pad posited in his lap. But James can't draw. He can't get a single line down on the blank white paper. He's tried this, night after night after night, but nothing works.

Jack's sleep is deep; he's exhausted, having a job that requires his careful attention every single moment of every day and then having James demand even more from him when night begins. James rarely sleeps at night. Usually he works into the wee hours of the morning and then slumbers the early day away, rising around lunchtime to finally scrounge up some breakfast. He wants to curl up with Jack and hold him close, fall asleep with the feel of his body against his, but it never happens. He only lies there with his mind racing, asking questions that he doesn't have the answers to.

So in response, he has been leaving Jack alone on his mattress and taking up residence a safe distance away, as if the space is enough to keep Jack from getting underneath his skin, from invading his heart. But it's far too late and if James had any courage, he'd admit it.

But he won't, and he can't. Instead he sits in silence and attempts to draw him, put Jack in his proper place by forcing him onto the page. Yet everything he draws is not good enough. Not beautiful enough. Nothing he can make can capture what Jack is and the crumpled papers that litter the floor around his bare feet illustrate all too well what James doesn't want to see.

He's fallen, and he's fallen hard.

And that's why when Jack wakes the next morning, James is sleeping awkwardly in the armchair, and that's why when Jack asks him what he's doing there, he has to make something up. He can't pull Jack close but he can't push him away. So James smiles and he frowns and he lies while telling the truth. Eventually he'll have to decide what he's going to do, but today is not that day.

Today is the day that he looks Jack in the eye and tells him that he couldn’t sleep so had gotten up to do some work.

“What are you drawing?” Jack asks, his voice still heavy with sleep. He yawns as he sits up, adjusting the tangled sheets over his waist modestly. James stands up and looks around at the mess he made last night, wads of crumpled paper scattered about in a semicircle, all discarded drawings of Jack. For some reason he begins to feel guilty, like perhaps he shouldn’t have been sketching Jack while he slept, and he bends down quickly to gather the evidence in his hands.

“It doesn’t matter,” James mumbles. He dumps all the paper into a nearby bag, one of the many around the loft that are full of enough paper, shavings and chemicals to have his place declared as a fire safety hazard. “Nothing turned out right.” He ties up the black plastic, paranoid that if it falls open, his secrets would be spilled out all over the hardwood floor for Jack to see. He carries it a few paces away and sets it down and then glances at Jack over his shoulder. Jack is slowly getting up, holding the sheet tightly around his waist as he scans the floor for his boxers.

James watches him and finds himself smiling faintly. He’s not even sure why; the smile just happens.

“You want some breakfast or somethin’?” He inquires as he opens the fridge, peering in not to look for anything in particular but to hide the goofy grin that he can’t seem to get off of his face.

“Breakfast?” Jack's eyes narrow in confusion and he shakes his head groggily like he might still be dreaming. James closes the fridge and looks at Jack at the sound of his disbelieving voice and he nods.

“Yeah, breakfast, you know, most important meal of the day and all that bullshit? You want some?”

“You're offering to make me breakfast?” Jack is even more confused and James rolls his eyes, wondering why it's so hard to believe.

“If you call pourin' you a bowl of cereal and brewin' up some coffee making breakfast, then yeah, I'm offerin' to make you breakfast.” He replies. He opens up a nearby box and pulls out two bowls and then digs two spoons out from the drying rack by the sink. He sets them down on the rickety table and then starts looking for the box of cereal he knows he has around somewhere, though where he stashed it in the kitchen is anyone's guess. Not seeing it, he opts to start making the coffee first, since he always leaves that out in the open, since he uses it way more often than he probably should.

“Uh, yeah, sure, I'll take some breakfast...that would be nice.” Jack smiles and gives up on his search for his boxers, instead walking toward the kitchen, toward James. He leans against the fridge and watches as James sets up the coffeemaker and gets out two mugs. “We could go out to breakfast sometime, if you wanted to. I know this great place nearby.”

“Not one for goin' out early in the mornin', Doc,” James states, shrugging as he clicks the red button on the front of the coffeemaker and it starts to percolate. Jack nods, struggling to keep his smile on his face, forcing it wider.

“Oh, okay. It was just an idea anyway.” Jack steps forward and looks at the two bowls on the counter, changing the direction of the conversation. “What kind of cereal do you have?”

“I think I got some kind of cornflakes around here somewhere.” James looks around, still trying to remember where he put them. Not having enough storage space in this half-assed kitchen of his makes things difficult. Often he's digging around in his art supplies and finds strange items that he tossed inside to get out of the way, things that have no business being there. He turns to look around and spots the box on top of the fridge, a place that actually makes a kind of sense. Bully for him. He reaches up and pulls them down, setting the box on the table behind him without looking as he opens the fridge back up. “Even got milk too.” James turns to Jack with a proud grin.

“You're giving the Barefoot Contessa a run for her money, James,” Jack teases and James screws up his face in bewilderment.

“The Barefoot what?”

“Nevermind,” Jack laughs lightly, picking up the box and opening it up. The bag crinkles as he unrolls the loosely closed top and the cereal makes a tinny tinkling noise as he pours it into the bowls, one for James, one for him. He fills both with milk and hands James his, sticking the spoon down inside. Then he walks back toward the chair that James had previously been occupying, sitting down with a tired sigh. His body is a bit stiff from last night; he hadn't seen James in a few days and James seemed hell bent on making up for lost time.

Truth is, he'd been avoiding James' phone calls for a week. It wasn't that he was ignoring him out of anger, taking a glance at his caller ID and shoving his phone away without a second thought. He'd almost answered every time. He'd stared at James' name on the screen, his finger poised above the talk button, very nearly pressing down, and at the last minute decided that he just...couldn't. Jack doesn't want to be hurt that James keeps him out of all aspects of his life except his bed but he can't help it. He's not used to basically being someone's booty call, for lack of a better term. He's not used to having sex and nothing else.

Yet last night Jack had relented. He wanted - no, needed to see James. Setting his pride aside, he made the call and made an excuse for his absence, citing a busy week at work. James didn't seem to care; he probably believed Jack so easily because he didn't really care so much. Days without Jack were probably just days without getting laid. Surely if Jack had waited a little longer, James would have just gone out and found himself someone new to screw around with.

Jack looks down at his cereal, watching milk creep over the golden colored flakes and soak them through, drag them down and make them soggy. He stirs his spoon through them absentmindedly, his appetite beginning to wane the longer he thinks about the situation. He glances up at James; he's occupied with pouring the coffee. The silence for him is comfortable and light, unaware that Jack is sitting behind him pondering their entire relationship. Jack swallows a spoonful of cereal and forces down his darker thoughts, shifting on the lumpy seat and preparing a happier, easier attitude for when James turns around.

After all, it's not James' fault that he wants more than this. James never promised him anything.

Jack feels something poking into the side of his leg as he moves in the chair, digging in sharply through the thin cloth of the sheet wrapped around him. He tilts slightly and feels for the offending item, wondering if maybe a spring has finally popped through the cushion. That certainly wouldn't be a surprise. He instead finds that it's a crumpled up ball of James' heavy sketch paper, the corners just pointed and sharp enough to have made him uncomfortable. Not thinking much of it, Jack pulls the paper open, curious to see what James was working on.

He's stunned by what he sees because what he sees is himself.

Jack looks up over the top of the page and stares at James, somewhere between flattered and angry and not able to decide which emotion he feels most.

“You still insist on taking it black?” James turns around holding both mugs. He stops, his face falling when he sees the paper that Jack has in his hand.

“What is this?” Jack asks, trying to keep his voice even, trying to sound interested or amused rather than what he’s actually feeling. James sets down both cups of coffee and walks to Jack, taking the drawing out of his hand. He glances at it once and then crushes it back into a ball and tosses it into the garbage.

“It’s a terrible drawing, that’s what it is,” James states, picking Jack’s coffee back up and handing it to him.

“You’ve been drawing me? While I’m asleep?” Jack doesn’t take a drink; he levels his gaze at James, wanting an answer. James shrugs and sips his coffee, wincing as its heat sears over his tongue.

“I’ve been trying to.” James chuckles, trying to sound flippant. If he acts like it’s not a big deal, maybe Jack won’t make it into one. “Turns out that I’m not so good at it.”

“At drawing?” Jack says skeptically. He looks up at James as James stops beside him, sitting down on the arm of the chair. James taps his fingers absently against the side of his cup, smiling crookedly.

“At drawing you, yeah,” James laughs, running his hand over his scruffy chin. “I can’t get it right. It never seems like you.”

“Maybe it’s because I’m sleeping,” Jack mumbles and James shoots him a look, hearing a note of annoyance in Jack’s voice. Exactly what he thought would happen - Jack ain’t happy.

“Does that bother you?” James plasters an innocent look over his face, determined to ride this out without making it into a fight. If he acts apologetic, that will make Jack think there’s something worth apologizing for. Instead he acts like Jack’s the strange one for being irked. “They’re just for me - or they would be, if I ever finished one…I ain’t showin’ ‘em to nobody or nothin’.”

”I guess I just…” Jack hesitates and James knows he’s undermined Jack’s anger. “I guess I would rather know if you were drawing me.”

“Would you do that?”

“Would I do what?” Jack’s forehead wrinkles in confusion, not understanding the question. James stands up from his seat on the edge of the couch and he reaches down, running his hand over Jack’s as it clasps his coffee mug, and then he gently pries the cup from his grip. He sets it aside, the action signaling he wants Jack’s complete and full attention.

“Model. For me.”

“Model for you?”

“Yes, model for me. All official-like.”

“Official-like?”

“Any reason you’re repeatin’ everything I’m sayin’, Polly?” James smiles and Jack blushes sheepishly, shaking his head.

“I…I don’t know, James. I don’t think I could do that.”

“Don’t see why you can’t.” James replies. Jack doesn’t respond; he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t want to do it but the fact that James is asking him to do it seems important somehow, like he’s finally being offered entrance into James’ private world. “It’d probably be better than me drawin’ ya while you’re sleepin’, dontcha think?” Jack isn’t sure.

“You really want me to model for you?” He asks like he’s expecting James to take it back.

“If you wanted to drop that sheet, I’d have you modeling for me right now, Doc,” James states with a wink. Jack’s fingers clasp tighter around the fabric and he looks at the ground shyly, still flushed a deep shade of pink.

“I, uh…I’ll think about it, okay?” He offers, hoping that will buy him time to think of an excuse not to do it. James nods and looks at Jack in a way that makes Jack feel like he knows, that he suspects Jack will never actually do it.

“What time you have to be at work.” James runs his finger along Jack’s waist where the sheet meets skin, stepping closer.

“An hour.” James covers Jack’s hand with his own and attempts to loosen his grip. Jack pulls tighter in protest.

“James-“ He starts, his whole body tensing. James leans in and brushes his lips against Jack’s ear, whispering for him to shush.

“An hour’s plenty a time, Doc…”

“James, I meant it, I’m really not sure I wanna model for your-“

“Jack…” James smiles against his neck, tugging hard on the sheet and giving Jack no choice but to let go. The fabric pools around his feet and James’ hands immediately smooth over his exposed body, eager to feel his warm skin. “Right now, modeling ain’t what I got in mind.”

*******

Jack eyes the sheets that James has messily strung across the large windows, not sure that they are going to stay up more than five minutes before falling down from their own weight. Thin pieces of light blue, pale yellow and faded red fabric hang crookedly from the wall, tacked up with haphazard staples and large crooked pieces of black gaffer’s tape. The wood floor is startlingly cold underneath his bare feet as he shifts back and forth slowly but nervously, causing the floor to creak with age.

James looks up at him from his position by his easel where he is laying out a large amount of charcoal and a few rubber erasers, the paper of his large sketch pad rustling and crinkling lightly as the corners turn up against the light breeze coming from the oscillating fan in the corner. James had turned it on after closing the windows and now it blows softly through the room, carrying a hint of James’ cologne toward Jack as it drifts over him. Jack shivers slightly, not necessarily because he’s cold but because he’s nearly naked and perhaps should be feeling the chill.

James raises his eyebrow at Jack and grins at his obvious anxiety. Jack answers by glancing toward the windows again.

“You sure no one can see in?” Jack asks, pointing. James chuckles.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he states for the third time since he hung them, shaking his head almost in wonder. “I woulda thought with you bein’ a doctor and all, you wouldn’t be this uptight about getting naked. Don’t people get naked in front of you all the time for exams and stuff?”

“It’s not so much the naked part as the people watching part,” Jack replies. “The idea of someone across the way just happening to look out their window and get an eyeful is not something that sounds like fun to me.”

“Aw, come on, Doc. Body like yours is too damn nice to keep under them fancy suits of yours all the time.” James winks, working to sound even more flirtatious and amusingly lewd than usual. Jack shoots him a look telling him that he’s not buying it. “Anybody lookin’ in will prob’ly be quite happy with what they see.”

“I’m not sure I want to do this.” Jack reaches for his jeans, which are slung over a nearby chair, but James beats him to the punch, stepping forward and grabbing Jack’s hand, pulling it away from his clothes.

“Jack, nobody can see. It’s just you n’ me. Do I have to remind ya that I’ve seen ya naked more n’ a few times already?” James runs his free hand down the side of Jack’s stomach, a slow smile spreading across his face as he steps closer. He looks Jack in the eyes, laughing very lightly and brushing a teasing kiss across Jack’s lips. “We’ve fucked just about everywhere in this damn place, Doc…makes this modesty thing seem kinda silly now, huh?”

“When we’re…” Jack pulls back, a little frustrated with having to explain himself. “When we’re…”

“Fucking?” James supplies, happily making Jack blush. Jack ducks his head shyly, not wanting James to see his cheeks color pink. After a moment he looks back up, pulling at the edge of his bottom lip with his teeth before deciding how to say what he wants to say.

“It’s…you know…different. We’re both…you’re not sitting there staring at me. You’re not drawing me, naked. I mean…”

“Well how ‘bout we level the playin’ field, Doc?” James offers. He steps back and pulls his faded green t-shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor. His hands are undoing his belt and the zipper of his pants before Jack can even open his mouth to reply. He shoves his jeans down and steps out of them, smiling triumphantly as Jack gazes back at him. “There. Now, gimme yours.” He gestures for Jack to take off his boxers and hand them over. Jack hesitates and James steps toward him. “You gonna make me do it for you?”

“No, I got it.” Jack puts up a hand to stop him and steps back, drawing in a deep breath. The last thing he needs is James’ hands on him right now. “I’ll do it.” He avoids James’ eyes as he hooks his thumbs underneath the elastic band of his gray boxer briefs and peels them down his thighs, unhooking them from around his feet and anxiously crumpling them into a tiny ball in his hand before managing to let them go.

Jack can feel James looking at him like his gaze is a caress burning hotly into his skin, leaving raised goosebumps on his arms and making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. When he dares to finally meet James’ stare, he finds the other man studying him intently, his blue eyes dark, burning with equal parts desire and concentration.

“James-“ Jack starts, wanting to cover himself up and nearly doing so with his own hands before reminding himself that he’s not a scared kid who just got pantsed. He is an adult and he’s choosing to model for his lover. It should make him feel excited, not exposed. He shouldn’t feel vulnerable and terrified, powerless instead of powerful. But he does, and the longer James stares at him, the more he wants to run and hide.

James stops his protest with a sharp shake of his head and a quick intake of breath, his eyes gaining a frantic kind of light as he reaches for a stick of charcoal, fumbling for it blindly as if he simply can’t take his eyes off of Jack.

“Can you pose like I showed you?” He requests, his voice low. Jack feels strange as James stares; he’s looking but not in a way that feels normal, focused on something that Jack can’t understand, can’t begin to see himself. So he just does as James says, climbing up onto the platform slowly and placing his feet where James had marked for him, angling his body in the way he thinks is correct. James makes a small gesture for him to turn slightly, adjust to his right, and Jack complies, hoping that James can’t see how scared he is by this whole thing.

“That’s good.” James holds up his hand to signal Jack to stop moving, looking from Jack back to the empty paper in front of him. “Now just remember what I told you about remaining as still as possible. Just tell me when you need a break.”

Jack nods, his mouth already feeling dry and his limbs already feeling awkward. He shifts out of habit and then moves back quickly, guiltily glancing out of the corner of his eye at James. James only smiles lightly in return, assuring him that he’s not going to flip out if Jack moves and ruins the drawing.

They fall into an easy silence, Jack purposely keeping his eyes trained straight ahead of him, not wanting to watch James watch him. He can hear the scratch of the charcoal on the paper, the swish of James’ hand when he blends shades of gray or the squeak of the eraser when he does away with it entirely. Occasionally he sneaks a look, furtively tilting his head just enough to catch a glimpse of James working before moving his head back into place.

James stays silent, remains focused. He is drawing for about half an hour before he suddenly stops, rips the paper from his easel, casts it down to the ground, and starts again.

“Can you turn a little this way?” James points with his thumb and Jack acquiesces. James squints and looks at him carefully, glances toward the windows, and then shakes his head. “A little more. And step about half a foot to your left.”

“My left?” Jack steps and James makes a face.

“No, let’s do my left. Go back the other way.” Jack readjusts as instructed, wanting to ask why but knowing enough not to. He’s curious as to what James is looking for but James won’t or can’t explain it; Jack’s tried to get him to talk about his other paintings and drawings before but he only gets vague reasoning and descriptions. Nothing revealing.

Whether clothed or no, Jack’s always the one who is naked. Even when they are having sex, deep and desirous, skin against skin, there’s still something about James that Jack can never see. Something is always hidden. Jack wonders if James acts like this intentionally or if he is unaware of how inaccessible he can be. Jack thinks it is on purpose but all he has is gut instinct and nothing to back it up.

“Like this?” Jack coughs and looks up at James for approval. James doesn’t reply but he goes back to work so Jack assumes that means he’s all right where he is.

For another fifteen minutes all Jack can hear is the whirring of the fan and the scratch of charcoal against paper. He tries to let his mind wander toward other things, things other than James. He stares at the different shades of color on the sheets covering the windows, watching shards of sunlight poke through small tears and holes in the fabric. Everything in front of him blurs just a little as he lets himself both physically and mentally lose focus; he checks out of reality and hangs somewhere in limbo, for once not caught up in his own thoughts.

Introspection can be a curse.

James looks from Jack to the drawing on his easel, dissatisfied. Even now when he is barely started he can tell he’s not getting it right. The shape and form is all wrong, the quality of his lines are weak and unexpressive, and nothing about it reads Jack.

Angrily he tears off the sheet of newsprint paper and crumples it up, tossing it aside. He squares his shoulders and levels his gaze determinedly at Jack, wanting to do this and do it right. Of all the subjects in the world, he should be able to draw his lover. It would somehow seem wrong to call himself an artist and not be able to do so.

Jack is inspiring and James wants to draw him. Desperately. He feels a longing for it whenever they wake in the morning and sunlight is streaming across Jack’s face in the most perfect way, a soft warm glow caressing his body as he lies sleeping, twisted in James’ sheets.

Attempting to draw Jack now is growing increasingly frustrating and he gives up on drawings before they’ve even really begun, sure that they are nothing but failures. Nothing can come close to what he sees in his mind. What he wants to accomplish.

He’s never had this problem before and it frightens him. He doesn’t know what it means - it could be anything, but mostly he worries that it means he and Jack are incompatible. Or so compatible that James is getting scared by it and wishing they weren’t. Either way, it’s becoming clear that this isn’t going to work. Any of it.

Another drawing cast off. A stick of charcoal worn down between his fingers, dusting them black. He swears under his breath as he stares at the blank page in front of him, wondering if he should even bother. James sighs and mutters another curse, his eyes drifting back toward Jack. Jack seems to have gone off into his own little world. His attention is focused elsewhere and his body is somewhat relaxed - or at least, more relaxed than he had been when they started.

James forgets his drawing pad for a moment and just looks, appreciating the sight before him. Jack is so striking, so beautiful, that James is overwhelmed by it. This is exactly what he wants to capture. A perfect moment where Jack is just himself, stripped down, bare and open.

James feels his cock begin to stir and he glances down, surprised but not. He’s always been so good about controlling himself during work time, not confusing an artistic ecstasy with a sexual passion. If the two desires met, intertwined, he would manage to at least separate the activity. Art. Sex. He’d done many a thing with models but never during a session. He never put that before his work.

But as he steps back behind the easel all James can think about is laying his hands on Jack’s naked, beautiful body and making him pant and moan and come for him. It’s what he wants.

He grips the charcoal harder and moves faster, working to sketch Jack in without overthinking it, without trying too god damn hard. Perhaps he is just taking this all too seriously and should lighten up. All he needs is one good drawing to make it worthwhile. Maybe it’s not going to happen today. Or maybe drawing Jack is something he’s not meant to do.

James takes a deep breath and steps back, letting his arm drop to his side. He looks at the drawing and then at Jack, trying to ignore the fact that his cock is half-hard, aching between his legs.

“Jack.” James says his name tersely, like it’s Jack’s fault he can’t concentrate. Jack doesn’t seem to hear him. “Jack, hey.”

“Oh, sorry…yeah?” Jack glances at him and James looks at him, meeting Jack’s gaze head-on.

“No matter what, don’t let me fuck you today, okay?”

“Excuse me?” Jack chuckles and then giggles, raising his eyebrows at James.

“I’m serious. If I try something…don’t let me.”

“Are you planning on trying something?” Jack smiles, his voice gaining a bit of a flirtatious edge, amused by how stern and serious James is being while talking about something so ludicrous.

“I’m supposed to be drawin’ you and nothin’ else,” James states firmly, frowning. Jack keeps grinning. “I’m serious. Don’t let me.”

“Okay. I won’t.” Jack nods, trying to force the smile from his face, but he can’t make it disappear.

“Jack.”

“I won’t!” Jack assures him. “I promise. No doing it. Got it.” James shakes his head in annoyance as Jack’s last words are broken by a chuckle. Jack coughs and straightens his back, murmuring an apology and trying to keep a straight face. It only takes a moment before he laughs again.

“Christ, Jack, it ain’t funny.” James tells him and Jack looks at him like he should know better.

“James, come on. It’s a little funny.” James doesn’t reply; he rolls the charcoal against his fingertips and stares Jack down contemptuously. “It is! I mean, come on, who says that?”

“Guys who are so turned on by someone lookin’ too damn perfect that they can’t draw a straight line, that’s who,” James snaps angrily. Jack’s smile turns soft and James scowls. “That look ain’t helpin’ the cause, Jackass.”

“Sorry,” Jack quickly looks down, now a little nervous. “You want to take a break?”

“No.” James looks back to his drawing and sighs. He tosses his piece of charcoal onto the table, clearly bothered, and then folds his arms over his chest, studying his work.

“Can I see?” Jack asks.

“No.” James steps to the side of his easel, ready to block Jack if he tries to come close. “You ain’t seein’ this.”

“James, I’m sure it’s great. You’re so hard on yourself, I-“

“Trust me Doc, I ain’t bein’ modest, I ain’t bein’ over-critical. You see these and you ain’t ever gonna let me draw you again.”

“Who said I would let you anyway?” Jack points out jokingly. He moves from his position finally, turning to smile at James. James shoots him a look, not because he minds but because he wants to give Jack a hard time too. “Sorry.”

James shrugs and looks Jack up and down, wishing he could simply grab him and pull him close, kiss him and touch him until they’re both dizzy with desire. James coughs and steps back behind the safety of his easel as his dick starts to react. Each time he lets his thoughts go uncontrolled, his body follows. Jack sighs as James retreats and he steps back into position, pausing to roll his aching neck first.

“We should try something else.”

“You could just take a photo,” Jack comments, not serious, and not having to look at James to know that James finds the suggestion inadequate.

“You could just stay naked all the time, then there’d be no need for a picture,” James retorts as he walks toward Jack, stepping up onto the platform. Jack laughs.

“That would make going to work a little difficult.”

“Eh. Who needs work anyway,” James mumbles, looking at Jack carefully, pondering something. “You should lie down. Let me get some pillows and stuff.” James turns and starts rifling through nearby boxes, finding another sheet and a few pillows, pausing to grab the one that is on the couch as well. He drops them at Jack’s feet. “Get comfortable.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” Jack eyes him. “I’m not asking you to go all Olympia on me, just lay down.” Jack complies, kneeling first and arranging the pillows.

“On my side or my stomach or…?” Jack glances up at James. James kneels and then lays down himself. He gestures for Jack to move across from him.

“Like this,” James demonstrates and Jack mimics him, lying on his side and stretching his left arm out straight, tucking it underneath the pillow where he rests his head. He lets his right drape over his waist loosely, his fingers curling gently against the cold wood under his body. James reaches over and bends his right leg just slightly at the knee and pulling it forward, his left leg the same but even less so. James drapes the sheet over Jack’s lower body and then arranges it meticulously so that it’s barely covering him at all, as if he had pushed it off in his sleep.

As he slips the fabric over Jack’s hip, James lets his hand drift over Jack’s waist, lingering there and staring at his fingers as they touch Jack’s body. Jack watches James in turn; James’ eyes are growing dark and wide and his breathing is faint and shallow, almost like he’s barely breathing at all. He lets his hand lightly move up the side of Jack’s body and then back down, his palm finally connecting fully when he slides over to Jack’s stomach. When he begins to trace the delicate trail of hair that leads downward to Jack’s cock, Jack’s stomach shifts under his touch as he sucks in a sharp breath.

“James, you said not to. You said-“ Jack stops as James’ hand finds his cock, letting his finger trace down his entire length. Jack shifts his hips toward him and then away, shaking his head. “You said not to let you.” Jack starts to get up, wrapping his hand around James’ wrist and pulling him away. James gives him a crooked smile and sets his hand on Jack’s shoulder, stopping him from getting up and then pushing gently. Jack goes easily when James presses, not fighting it when he finds himself on his back.

“And you’re gonna let me be the boss of you?” James asks, a sly smirk flitting over his face before it’s quickly replaced by an expression of genuine adoration. Jack doesn’t answer aloud but he doesn’t protest when James rolls on top of him, gently pressing his lips to his. In fact he opens to him readily, letting James’ tongue slip into his mouth and making a small noise of pleasure as he does so. “I gotta have you, Doc, can’t help it.” James whispers against Jack’s lips.

“You’re going to be angry at me later…” Jack replies, letting his eyes drift closed as James moves down to kiss his neck. Jack twines his fingers in James’ golden hair and just feels him moving against his body. “You specifically told me…”

“I say a lot of dumb shit. Never take me serious.”

“You seemed pretty damn serious, James,” Jack says and James pulls back, giving him a cocky smile.

“I’m pretty damn serious now too, Doc,” he winks, slinking down the length of Jack’s body, his hands smoothing down from his chest to his stomach to his thighs. Jack gasps as James wraps his fist around the base of his cock and then strokes him. “Forget what I said.”

“James-“ Jack lifts his head from the pillows and looks down as James starts to pump his dick. He had believed James in the end, that he had wanted Jack to stop him when he did this, but Jack doesn’t have the willpower right now to do it. The way James’ hands feel on his body is perfect, rough and calloused and strong. Part of him is secretly pleased that James wants him badly enough to have to tell Jack he won’t be able to stop, that Jack has the responsibility of keeping him in check.

The only problem with that scenario is that James assumes Jack, the stalwart, responsible one between the two of them, has the will to put an end to it. But when it comes to sex, Jack has become just as hopeless, if not even moreso than James himself. When they’re in bed, it’s the only time Jack truly is able to believe that James cares. And it’s not that they are having sex that makes him believe it. It’s in the way James looks at him, his face for once open and unguarded. For a moment Jack thinks that he’s finally seeing him, the person that is always so hidden.

But when it’s all over James’ face is unreadable and Jack starts to wonder all over again if the connection he feels with James is only in his head.

It’s because of this that Jack nearly pushes James away when he starts to stroke harder, faster, but the look in James’ eyes surprises him. He’s never seen James look so damn hungry for him and it catches him off guard.

James stares at his movements over Jack’s erection, his mouth nearly watering as he watches Jack’s length fill and expand, feels it grow hard, the blood rushing down and pulsing through him. He wraps his fingers around his base and holds firmly while he lets his other hand stroke up and down Jack’s shaft, ignoring the head. He keeps going like this as long as he can, knowing that touching Jack’s tip drives him crazy and avoiding it will make him to beg for it.

Jack shuts his eyes and lets his head fall back, his neck arching so appealingly that James wishes he could move to kiss it. James groans and looks back to Jack’s hard-on, now a dark pink and enticingly rigid. His head is swollen and red and he’s beginning to leak, a drop of white liquid gathering in his slit.

“Jack…god…look at your fucking cock,” James whispers, continuing to pump him. “Look at it…fuck…I love watching you get hard…” James suddenly wraps his hand around Jack’s tip and strokes down, his other beginning up top again before the other reaches his base, again and again and again. Jack’s head snaps up and he swears loudly, his hips bucking.

“James!” He practically exclaims, his body shuddering as James works him. James moves his right hand, slipping it down slowly to Jack’s balls and caressing them gently while he keeps massaging his head. Jack lets out a noise somewhere between a whine and a whimper and James backs off considerably, not wanting Jack to come now. Not yet. He just wants Jack to almost come. And then almost come again. “Oh god, James…” Jack’s groan is loud and he looks down at him, his eyes glazed and his mouth open in a breathless pant. As James’ finger slides behind his swollen sac to brush against the sensitive area there, the spot he knows can set Jack on fire, and Jack lets his eyes fall closed again, barely able to take the sensation.

James gives in and slides his hand back down and circles Jack’s engorged shaft, dipping his head and guiding him past his lips, only taking his tip inside. Jack’s taste invades his mouth, a bitter tang that he has grown to crave because it feels so good.

Jack props himself up on his elbows, half-sitting up and his legs bent, spread wide with James’ head bobbing between his thighs as he takes him deeper.

“Fuck…” He gasps, using one arm to support himself, resting on his elbow as the other hand twines in James’ hair, guiding him, urging him on gently. Jack’s hips start to rock slightly, urging up from the ground; James can tell he wants to move harder, perhaps thrust into his warm, wet mouth, but Jack is holding back. But just that timid movement of his hips is enough to make James lose any last remnant of self-control he has left.

James pulls off and moves forward suddenly, pushing Jack flat on his back, kissing him soundly, much harder than before. Jack can taste a faint trace of himself on James’ lips and tongue and he lets James possess him, control the kiss, pin him down and hold him there.

“I want you…I want you so much…” James murmurs this with such passion, such reverence, it almost feels like he’s saying something else entirely, something more. Jack moans against his kiss as James rests his weight down onto him, James’ own erection rubbing against his.

“You told me not to let you have me,” Jack whispers. James rocks against him and nods, bending to kiss Jack again.

“I never wanted to do this,” James responds. “Never let the art lose before…”

“It’s losing now?” Jack asks and he feels James smile against his cheek as his lips move along his jaw line.

“I sure as hell ain’t drawin’, am I?” James points out. Jack is quiet for a moment, letting James kiss him as an unexpected wave of emotion crashes over him, stronger than the lust racing through his veins, his barely contained orgasm that is still teetering somewhere near the brink.

“Fuck me,” he breathes into James’ ear. “Fuck me. Now.” James pulls back and looks at him; Jack’s never been so demanding. Even the first time he’d asked for it, he hadn’t sounded like this. Now he is giving a command, telling James to get inside of him and that he doesn’t have much of a choice. Not that he wants a choice.

“Not here,” James shakes his head, pulling back. He looks at Jack splayed out before him, his body flushed with arousal, and swallows hard as his heart jumps into his throat. He glances around his loft, looking for the right place. He didn’t want it on this hard wooden platform, not tonight. He’d fucked people there before, just as he has in almost every place in this apartment. His eyes land on his chair, the one he had watched Jack so intently from this morning, and knows he wants him there. The one virgin location in the whole place.

James runs his hands over Jack’s stomach and then jerks his head in the chair’s direction.

“Chair. C’mon,” He kisses Jack on the lips lightly and then pulls back; Jack follows him, their lips still playing at one another’s as they crawl off the platform and stand up slowly. James guides Jack to the chair and sits him down, sinking to his knees in front of him.

“God James, no…I can’t…” Jack pleads, thinking James is about to start teasing with his mouth again. He can’t take it anymore; he’s about to go insane with lust and as much as he loves James’ perfect mouth wrapped around his straining cock, he needs more. James shakes his head; he hadn’t even been thinking of that.

“Lean back,” James murmurs as he fits himself between Jack’s legs. James lets his hard-on brush against Jack’s as he leans toward him, running his hands up the length of Jack’s arms, lifting them up over his head and wrapping Jack’s fingers over the back edge of the couch.

“James….” Jack’s cock touches his and James clenches his hands over Jack’s for a moment, expulsing a curse from his lips.

“I’ll be right back,” James whispers, pulling back. Jack reaches out quickly and grabs his arm, stopping him.

“I don’t need it,” Jack shakes his head adamantly, pulling James. “I’m ready.” He releases James from his grasp and puts his hand back dutifully along the top of the seat where James had put it. James nods and looks down at his own cock. It stands at attention, ready to plunge into Jack’s willing body. James spits into his palm even though Jack refused the lube and strokes himself, spreading that wetness and his leaking liquid all over his entire dick.

Lining himself up, he presses in gently, just his head at first. Jack was right; he’s so open, willing to be invaded. He lets his tip bask in that heat for a moment before pushing all the way in. They both groan loudly as James buries himself inside.

“Oh fuck you feel good,” James grunts, gripping onto Jack’s hips tightly. Jack nods enthusiastically but doesn’t speak, a short burst of a moan slipping from his lips when James thrusts in and out, going so deep that he seems to be reaching parts of Jack that have never been touched before. His body stretches and burns as James pounds up into him, his long thick dick plundering him violently. Jack just lays back and holds tight, letting himself be thoroughly fucked.

James watches Jack relax into it, his body all at once tight and hot but pliable and willing. Jack’s back is arched slightly, his head turned to the side, his cheek resting against the cushion behind him. His firm biceps and forearms are straining as he keeps himself from slipping from the edge of the couch. His cock is dripping over his stomach, already seeping. A few errant drops run down his length, faint traces of it slipping into the dark hair around his base and over his taut balls, which are drawing closer and closer to his body. A grunt escapes him every time their bodies connect, the sound of it driving James crazy and making him move faster, harder.

“Look at you, Jack…god…” James whispers, quiet but incredibly forceful. “Look at me…look at what I’m doing to you…” James begs and Jack looks down toward where James cock is sliding in and out of his body, his own hard-on quivering and trembling, suspended over his abs about a moment from exploding.

“Touch me…oh fuck please touch me, James.” Jacks implores him desperately but James can’t; his hands remain gripped tightly to Jack’s hips, holding him in place.

“Come for me, Jack,” James entreats. He’s barely able to breathe, finding it hard to keep thrusting as his mind starts to get hazy and his vision blurs. His own orgasm is right there and the only reason he hasn’t come is because Jack is still hanging on. “Come on baby.”

At the sound of this surprising endearment Jack loses control and his whole body shudders, wracked from the force of his orgasm ripping through him. His whole world disappears and he falls into the void, sensation the only thing there to fill it. He pumps five times hard, spurting white creamy liquid all over his chest, drops hitting his neck from the force of it. James keeps pounding into him as he rides it out, Jack’s hips still rocking upward to meet James’ thrusts. Before he can start to come back down James cries out sharply; Jack groans as he feels James pour himself inside of him, his hard dick pulsing in his tight channel and warmth flooding his body.

They both still as James finishes and all they can hear is the sound of the other breathing heavily, struggling to regain control. James lets himself go entirely soft inside of Jack’s body before slipping out, caressing Jack’s thighs as his wasted cock hangs back down between his legs. Jack sits up just a little, feeling weak and dizzy but completely satisfied, and gives James a sex-stupid smile, his eyes still wide and dilated.

James doesn’t say anything before he leans in and kisses Jack passionately, using every last ounce of energy he has to do so. When they break apart, breathless and lightheaded, James puts his forehead against Jack’s, grinning himself.

“Guess you can’t resist me either, huh,” he chuckles and Jack laughs lightly, bringing his hands up to James’ face, pushing sweat-soaked strands of his dark blond hair away from his flushed cheeks.

“No, not at all,” Jack replies, closing his eyes and brushing his lips against James’ gently.

“Well, I guess I should be happy I ain’t alone in that then,” James murmurs, his thumbs moving in small circles against Jack’s stubbled cheeks. He loves the feel of Jack’s five o-clock shadow under his fingertips because he only tends to go unshaven if he’s been at James’ for more than a night. He loves him clean shaven too, but this somehow is better.

“No, you’re not alone,” Jack states and James pulls back, staring deep into Jack’s dark eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Jack looks confused but he’s too worn out to be alarmed.

“This wasn’t supposed to be about sex. I didn’t get you naked to get laid,” James says, sounding genuinely apologetic. “I really did want to draw you and we barely even got started before I gave up and fucked you. I ain’t ever lost it like that before.”

“I don’t care,” Jack assures him. “I don’t think you asked me to model to get laid, James, because you don’t need an excuse for us to do that. And it doesn’t matter so much about the drawing either.”

“It matters to me,” James mumbles and pulls back slightly, but Jack follows him, not allowing him to create distance between them.

“I just meant there will be other times, other chances. I’m not going anywhere.” Jack runs his hand gently through James’ hair and James nods, locking into Jack’s gaze. Silence falls for a minute and then James looks down, his hands dropping to Jack’s thighs and rubbing softly.

“You don’t got anywhere to be, right?”

“No.”

They crawl into bed together, settling down onto James’ thin mattress and pulling his random assortment of mismatched blankets over him. With the sheets over the windows, it give the feeling that they are holed up inside some protective cocoon, a cave, the whole world out there and only them inside, just the two of them. James lays behind Jack and circles Jack’s waist with his arm, pulling Jack to him loosely, lazily. He feels comfortable, drifting off toward sleep, when Jack speaks.

“Hey James?”

“Hmm?”

“I wasn’t going to say anything, but I’m going up to Seattle next weekend for this convention.”

“Just the weekend, right?” James asks, nestling closer.

“Yeah.”

“Well I get dibs on Thursday and Monday then, I’ll have to screw your brains out to make up for it,” he teases.

“I was thinking maybe you might want to come with me?” Jack turns in James’ embrace and James is a bit startled, not having expected the movement or the question. Jack looks at him, his expression full of uncertainty and vulnerability.

“Seattle? Why would I want to go there?” Jack lets his fingers run over the knuckles of James’ hand on his hip, considering his answer carefully.

“I don’t know, I just thought…a change of scenery. It might be nice. Seattle’s beautiful.”

“Seattle’s gray and rainy, Doc,” James retorts and Jack shrugs.

“Eye of the beholder I guess,” he sighs. “It’s okay if you don’t wanna go. I was just going and it’d be free for you to go if you wanted to, so I thought I’d ask…” Jack eyes James and then looks away nervously. “It doesn’t really matter.”

“Seattle, huh..” James rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling as he tries to think of reason why he wouldn’t or shouldn’t go. Jack remains silent beside him, waiting for the inevitable answer no. “I don’t see why not.”

“Really?” Jack can’t hide his surprise. James turns his head to look at Jack and then rolls back to face him.

“Yeah. What the hell.”

“Well…good. I’m glad…it’ll be great to have you there. Those conventions…” Jack rolls his eyes and James raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t have to go to that part of it, do I?” He jokes and Jack shakes his head no, smiling.

“You can do whatever you want.”

“I want to do you,” James winks and Jack reaches over, smoothing his palm over James’ sharply defined abs. They shift closer to one another and James fits his leg over Jack’s as Jack kisses him, twining his body with his.

“Well I have no problem with that,” Jack tells him and then rests his head on the pillow beside James’ and gives him a light smile, turning serious again. “It’ll be great. I promise.”

James nods and brings Jack’s hand up between them, roping their fingers together and then brushing his lips over Jack’s knuckles.

“I know.” Those are the last words spoken; they lay there beside each other for a while, simply looking at one another, until Jack slowly starts to drift off to sleep. James watches him fade into slumber but doesn’t let his own eyes close. He should be exhausted after what they just did, but for some reason he feels unsettled, not relaxed. He knows he doesn’t want to go to Seattle with Jack. He knows it right now but he doesn’t know why he couldn’t have just said that.

Maybe because he knew deep down that he had no good reason for his reluctance. With anyone else he wouldn’t have cared and he would have just been honest. He doesn’t go on weekend trips. He doesn’t do anniversaries or buy presents on Valentine’s Day. He doesn’t remember birthdays and he certainly doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do for the sake of someone else.

But he never makes love to a model in the middle of a session either. He never discards his life’s passion for a tumble in the sheets. And he certainly never lays in silence simply staring at someone and holding their hand while they sleep either.

This isn’t him.

James disentangles his fingers from Jack’s carefully and rolls away from him. Jack shifts but doesn’t wake as James climbs up from bed, pulling on his boxers and heading over toward his drawing area. He collects his wasted drawings of Jack in his arms and puts them in the trash, all of them. He packs up his charcoal and pastels and takes down the newsprint pad from the easel, putting things away for a change instead of leaving them out for weeks on end.

Then James takes a seat in the beat up chair he had just used with Jack and sinks down into the cushions, his fingers immediately going to the arm of it and pulling at the foam peeking from the ripped edges.

He stares at Jack and starts planning how to tell him that he’ll be going to Seattle alone after all.

*******

-------> THIS PART CONTINUED...