If you’re asking, I can’t say no

[eliotwaugh]

The sound of an incoming text stirs Eliot from uneasy sleep. He feels hungry and sick, and part of him wants to curl up and return to unconsciousness, but there’s a sense of urgency from the muddle of half-remembered stress dreams that makes him reach for his phone.

One arm reaches out from the cocoon of the duvet and fumbles at the nightstand. Eliot winces at the chill of cut crystal against his hand, and the subsequent soft thunk as the whiskey glass tumbles to the carpet.

He pushes the duvet off his shoulders and sits up with a groan, peering from the floor to the harsh blue light of the phone. At least the glass had been empty. Eliot squints at the phone as he reads the message—it takes a moment to parse and it sounds normal enough, but he wonders what the fuck Jack actually means.

It’s after midnight. Eliot can’t help wondering what Jack’s doing awake at this hour, if he’s alone in his own bed or unable to sleep. If Eliot had just asked him to stay, instead of being such a coward, maybe he would have said yes. Maybe he’d be here, instead, and Eliot wouldn’t feel like there’s something missing that keeps him from any sense of peace.

But then, if Jack could see him now, what a mess Eliot is, surely he wouldn’t be asking to do this again.

He seems fine with it being transactional, though. And Eliot wants to do it again, to touch him and make him happy for a while, even if the shame of how much he wants it feels like something stuck in his throat.

He frowns at Jack’s mention of the musician, and feels his stomach churn. His thumb hovers over the reply field a moment before he sighs and replaces the phone face down on the nightstand. He can’t do this now. The most Eliot is capable of is scooting the glass further away so he won’t step on it in the morning.




When Eliot wakes up again there’s light coming through the curtains, and by some small miracle his head doesn’t hurt. He doesn’t feel particularly good, especially when he looks at the food left out, and Jack’s rings. But he’s marginally more capable of dealing with the situation than he’d been last night, so he sighs and looks at the text again.

It takes Eliot a long time to formulate a decent response—he understands that Jack had something of an open relationship in the past, and it seems he’s just inclined that way. And since he’s made it clear that anything he does with Eliot is educational, Eliot has no right to ask him not to see Jacob. He really shouldn’t even be bothered by it. He’s hardly a prude and there’s nothing wrong with the musician, but Eliot can’t bring himself to enjoy the thought of Jack being with him. He simply has to grin and bear it.

Finally, he replies: glad you found it enlightening, I had a splendid time. If you feel like you want more ‘lessons’ I’d be delighted.
Re: Jacob— (Eliot cringes as he types the name) I don’t see why you shouldn’t meet up with him, if you want to. Let me know how it goes!

He’s done a decent enough job of not seeming too desperate to meet up again—but he still needs to confirm the boundary Jack’s set down that they’re just friends. So he’ll be friendly.

Eliot sends another message, hoping their regular social schedule can still happen: Were you still up for coffee on Thursday? Looking forward to it if so

That accomplished, he sets the phone back down. He’s too drained of energy to tidy the mess, but too anxious to sit and wait for Jack’s response. In the end he peels off his socks and garters and drags himself to the bathroom in the hope that a shower will make him feel more like a person.

Comments

[eliotwaugh]

Eliot shivers, caught off guard by the question. Jack asked it mildly enough but he’s not wrong, as much as Eliot’s been subconsciously lying to himself about it.

He gives Jack a rather startled smile and considers his response, and doesn’t pull away. He didn’t plan for this, but he’s delighted that Jack feels comfortable enough to take some initiative.

“Not the whole point,” he answers, and it comes out sounding more shy than he’d intended. “I didn’t lure you here under false pretenses, if that’s what you’re wondering. I wanted to help. I do want to help. But…” he looks down at Jack still fingering his lapel, and reaches out to rest a hand on his waist, steady. “I can’t deny it’s tempting. If you’re not put off…?” Eliot tilts his head coyly, already feeling more confident about this possibility with the warm point of contact between them. He bunches his hand in the drape of Jack’s shirt, then smooths it. “Maybe I want to do something nice for you, if you’ll let me.”

When he shifts closer, his gaze drifts from Jack’s eyes to his mouth and then to the thin streak of scabbed red at his throat. It won’t leave a scar and it could pass for a shaving mishap at this point, but Eliot still feels a pang of guilt.

He dips his head down, grasping Jack’s waist more firmly as he presses a gentle kiss to the cut. It’s an apology of sorts, he thinks, but not just that. I put this here. And feeling Jack’s pulse against his lips, it’s harder to think of it as a mistake.

Jack looks a little dazed when he pulls away after a moment. Eliot grins.

“Here, just…have a seat.” He nudges Jack over to the bed without resistance, and looks at him: he’s questioning, maybe, but not uninterested.

He holds Jack's gaze as he sinks to his knees before him, and there’s a splutter of protest that he finds charming, like Jack thinks Eliot's debasing himself.

He smiles, his hands braced on top of Jack’s thighs, feeling the muscles jump under his touch. His face is flushed and he is so very warm.

“I want to make you feel good,” Eliot murmurs, stroking a slow arc with his thumb. It feels like he’s confessing something, too big to keep talking about. He needs his mouth otherwise occupied. “Yeah?”

[jackrackham]

Eliot leans and kisses his neck so gently that Jack aches to kiss him. When Eliot pulls back, his body naturally leans in towards him. It's only been a couple of days but he already misses the feel of lying next to him in bed. Eliot redirects him to the bed and he follows eagerly, but instead of joining him or pushing him further onto the bed, Eliot drops to his knees.

"Eliot- I-" he sputters, not knowing what to do. He nearly says that he doesn't want this, that he wants something more like what they'd done before. He wants to touch Eliot more than this will allow, but he can't admit that once Eliot says that this is what he wants. Maybe what happened before had been too much and that's both why he'd been quiet after before and why he's offering this now instead. Maybe this is all Eliot needs.

Besides, what sort of man would he be if he turned down anyone offering to suck him off, most of all Eliot? He nods, trying to let the slow movement of Eliot's thumbs on his thighs relax him.

Whatever his concerns, they slip away under Eliot's skilled attentions. Eliot is very good at sucking cock. Even absent his hot mouth, his soft lips, Jack is enraptured by the sight of him with his mouth around his cock, how he guides him up to orgasm almost effortlessly then backs off in a way that makes him whine with need.

Afterwards, as Jack tucks himself away, Eliot sighs and rests his head against Jack's thigh. His heart still pounding in his ears, Jack takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, then reaches down and brushes his thumb against Eliot's bottom lip, feeling the saliva there, the soft texture of his lip. After a moment there, he brushes his hand gently past Eliot's temple to play lightly with his curls.

"Do you want me to return the favor?" He definitely does want to, even though there's no way that he could be as skilled as Eliot. Maybe Eliot would be willing to teach him- if this was okay, maybe that's a way that he could touch Eliot. Maybe he could make him feel good, too.

Instead, Eliot shakes his head minutely and says "Another time."

Jack nods, playing with Eliot's curls for a moment longer before dropping his hand away. Maybe Eliot just doesn't want that. Maybe He's just better as something to use, like he'd been for Anne. That's fine, he thinks, biting at his lower lip anxiously. If this is what Eliot wants from him, it's not the worst fate he can imagine. He can love him on his terms.

Maybe he should get out of here before he overstays his welcome. "They expecting you back at the Archive?"

[eliotwaugh]

He feels serene, like he’s acheived some level of enlightenment while bracketed here between Jack’s legs. Eliot’s world shrinks to just this room, this space made by their bodies and the weight of Jack’s cock in his mouth, the pleasant ache in his jaw. Here, he’s like something divine, some luminous creature of infinite compassion.

Jack is quiet, much like the first time, but Eliot can still read his body enough to tease him. He rucks up Jack’s shirt and plants a palm firm on his belly, to feel his breath hitch. When he draws off to keep Jack on the edge, Eliot meets his gaze with a smirk and finds his eyes black and his mouth slack with need. It’s the most beautiful thing Eliot’s ever seen.

He stays put afterwards. Eliot’s own arousal barely registers, he’s too focused on savoring the mingled pride and comfort as he rests his head on Jack’s leg. The feel of careful fingers in his hair is almost too much—it elicits an emotion in Eliot that he can’t name. It’s not the sense-dulling heaviness of submission, but something vast and light and fragile. If he keeps thinking about it he fears it’ll slip away.

So he smiles, and closes his eyes.

Jack asks to reciprocate, and it’s not surprising at all. He’s so curious and hungry for new experiences, and it’s unbearably charming, but Eliot can’t imagine moving from this spot. He demurs with a vague idea that there’ll be another time, even though he’s half sure Jack won’t want to do any more fact-finding experiments if he starts seeing the musician.

For the moment, while it still lingers, he savors Jack’s lazy tenderness, and imagines being able to receive this affection whenever he wants. Being the kind of person who deserves it. Eliot’s struck by the thought that people don’t touch him like this, either. He doesn’t think he’d want it from anyone else.

The question comes as a sudden shock, like ice dropped down the back of his shirt. Eliot blinks, feeling the stinging threat of tears, and scrubs his eyes with the back of his hand. He sits back sharply on his heels, fumbling for a response.

“Shit,” he says, his voice rough. “Fuck, I…” he can’t answer, not immediately. He feels a sudden guilt about this whole morning, like he’s taken advantage or let show just how much Jack has him entangled.

“I should,” Eliot clears his throat. “I should let them know, I guess, I-” he looks up at Jack, hands balled up in fists on his knees. “Was this okay? I know I just sprung it on you but…”

He does need to get to work. He needs to get his shit together, but before that he needs to make sure Jack’s all right. “I don’t know if you want to…depending on how it goes for you with-with Jacob, maybe you won’t want to keep doing this?” Eliot winces, but gives Jack a reassuring smile. “I’m fine either way.”

That feels like swallowing glass.

“But I liked this,” Eliot adds, “as long as you did, and…I should let you get on with your day.” He wants to apologize, for being like this, but he’s made enough of a mess of the morning already.

[jackrackham]

Jack's brow furrows as Eliot quickly shifts away. Half dazed still, he blinks to focus in on what Eliot has to say. He's surprised about the sudden shift in mood, how he looks unsure and caught off guard.

Jack lowers himself from the bed onto the floor so that he's on level with Eliot, keeping an eye on his expression as he goes. After a moment, he extends one leg so that he can create a point of contact against him without getting too much in his personal space.

"Eliot, you can do whatever you want to me." He smiles softly, trying to keep his tone light, but there's no hiding his confusion. Eliot dictated this whole morning, Jack doesn't understand why he'd be worried about it now. There's a sadness to the statement, too, that he hopes doesn't come through. As much as he wants more from Eliot, he can't expect more from him than he's capable of giving. Everything between them feels so tenuous, but he does still want it.

He laughs lightly, but only for show. "As for Jacob-" He shrugs. "It won't be a trial, he's handsome. But so far, I've agreed to an evening of music appreciation in exchange for some insight into the time I'm from. The plan is to get back home- or at least out of Darrow, and that is still the plan. If my going on dates helps Anne feel better about wanting what she wants, then I'm going to do that, but it doesn't change what I want."

And if he wants Eliot, wants more than occasional sex? That doesn't matter. It's not possible, so it's not worth thinking about.

"I'll probably be thinking about your fine mouth the entire time, after this." Jack catches Eliot's eye, a faint blush burning in his cheeks. It's more than he would normally say, but he needs to be sure that Eliot knows he would still want him even if this date with Jacob goes well. Maybe Eliot is trying to disentangle himself and hand him over to someone else, but Jack doesn't want that to happen.

He studies Eliot a moment more, but he's not sure what he's looking for. "Do you want me to stay? I didn't want to overstay my welcome."

[eliotwaugh]

He’s bewildered, more than anything else, when Jack joins him on the floor. Maybe he shouldn’t be—one of Jack’s charms is how is doesn’t abide by the social scripts Eliot knows, so he’s off-kilter but not exactly anxious. Instead of standing and offering a hand up he’s here, they’re face to face, and continuing the conversation as if Eliot hadn’t been sucking him off moments ago.

He nods along. Jack sounds sensible, but there’s an undercurrent of something else, which Eliot supposes he should have expected. It’s an awkward arrangement, no way it couldn’t have been, even with the straightforward facts that Jack isn’t planning to be here indefinitely, and is comfortable with more than one casual partner. Eliot’s familiar enough with that, but it’s still, annoyingly, different with a friend. It’s different with him.

But he can’t offer any reasonable alternative, and though he flushes at the idea of Jack thinking about him when he’s with someone else, he can’t muster any pride at the compliment.

The offer startles him more than all the rest of what Jack’s said.

“Y-” Eliot starts to reply, before his thoughts can catch up. He wants to say yes, beyond all sense, but that’s a dangerous prospect, too impulsive. How could he possibly be honest under these conditions. Would you mind if we just cuddled? Eliot thinks, and imagines an awkward laugh, a polite refusal. Horrific. He takes a breath and smiles, hesitantly at first.

“You’re very tempting,” he answers at last. “We could probably lose a whole day just, mm, passing time together, but…” He could always call in sick, but there’s the chance John would Know the truth with his weird Archive powers, and he has no intention of making his personal business the subject of office gossip. “I’d rather actually plan for it, nicer that way. And it wouldn’t result in me getting told off by stuffy Englishmen.”

He sighs a little wistfully and meets Jack’s gaze with a soft laugh.

“My fault entirely for losing track of time…I promise to make it up to you later.” He doesn’t know when later might be, but they have a vague scaffolding of something, an agreement that they’ll do this again. It has to be enough. And in the meantime, he allows himself to imagine a moment suspended outside time, resting his head on Jack’s lap and being happy.