Summary: Being in James’s house is making him even more nervous than he was just now in the car
Note: Picks up right where foxxcub's Relationships That Never Happened left off, to the minute. And go check out the new comm, just for Jack/James fics! It's soooo shiny! jackjames_verse.
Jack follows James into the house, shivering now from the wet jeans, both of them soaked and shirtless. He reaches for James. He tells himself it’s because James feels warmer than he does or because it’s dark and he can’t see where he’s going but he just has to keep touching him. His hand settles on James’s arm and James reaches back, not even looking as he takes Jack’s wrist and leads him inside.
The lights are off -- what the hell time is it anyway? -- and they tiptoe down the narrow hall, James guiding him around obstacles that are familiar only to him. The house is hushed and it’s understood that he shouldn’t make any noise.
He doesn’t know why, but being in James’s house is making him even more nervous than he was just now in the car. Just the idea that he’s going to be in James’s bedroom -- he is going to let him sleep in his bed, isn’t he? -- is somehow more intimate than showering with him. Or letting him suck his cock. He flushes, daring to hope for more.
He stumbles suddenly over something underfoot and sends whatever it is crashing to the floor. They both freeze and Jack has to fight to keep the giggle building inside him from getting out. James hisses at him to be quiet but it’s too late.
“James?” It’s a woman’s voice. She sounds sleepy, confused.
"My aunt. Fuck," James whispers to Jack. “Yeah,” he says much louder, hand pressed against Jack’s chest to stop him from saying anything. “Just me. Just got back. I’m goin’ to bed now.”
“OK, James.” There’s a pause and they each draw breath again. “Is someone with you?”
James swears softly before answering. “Yeah. Just a friend. He’s gonna crash here.”
“OK. Night,” comes the soft voice and James shoves Jack towards a door at the end of the hall.
They fall into his room, both giving way to giggles. Jack pulls James to him. He needs to kiss him now, here in his room. It feels so natural to have James in his arms, hear him sigh as he opens his mouth, feel his skin heat up under his touch and then that shiver of anticipation.
He’s running his hands through James’s wet hair and he simply can’t get close enough, can’t get enough of him. He can taste himself on James’s tongue and he knows it should disgust him but it doesn’t. James moans, low and throaty, like he did when he was going down on him and the sound goes straight to his dick. The throb is too much. He rubs against James and finds that he’s hard again too and his brain starts to blur around the edges, thick with booze and desire.
They stumble towards the bed and James shoves a pile of clothes onto the floor. Jack sits down and suddenly the bed feels too warm and too soft for him to think any more. He leans against the wall and for a second he forgets where he is, forgets that James is there. The room is growing close and starting to spin.
“Jack? Jack!” James is shaking him but he just waves him away.
“Mmmph,” he protests. “Just gonna close my eyes,” he says slowly. James leaves him alone and he blissfully sinks into the bed. The pillow smells like James and he sprawls out, burying his head in the pillow and not caring that he’s taking up the entire bed.
James is shaking him again and forcing him to sit up and shoving a glass of water into his hand. “Here,” he says and he won’t leave him alone until he drinks the whole glass. “Don’t want you passin’ out again.”
The cold water clears Jack’s head for a minute. In the darkness, he can just make out James’s silhouette. “Yeah,” he mumbles, a wave of embarrassment washing over him.
“You hit the Cuervo pretty hard,” James is saying as Jack leans back again, happy to close his eyes. “You’re gonna have a helluva hangover. If you drink some water before you go to bed, it helps, you know?”
“Yeah,” Jack says sleepily. He’s dimly aware that James is toweling his hair off... it feels nice ... and pulling his wet jeans off. He’s already drifting off to sleep when he feels a warm body pressed against his. James is naked ... and so is he. The realization flashes through his mind with shocking clarity. He holds perfectly still, not budging as James shoves him closer to the wall. He doesn’t have enough room but James keeps edging him over farther until finally he can squeeze in beside him.
James smells like rain next to him and he licks his lips, thinking of how he wants to kiss him again ... right after he closes his eyes for another minute.
He wakes up with a start, desperately needing to take a piss. He has no idea where he is at first. The shadows are all wrong, the ceiling too low. And he’s so hot. He tries to throw off the blanket but someone else is pinning it down. James. He’s in James’s bed. The evening comes back to him in a flash, how he got drunk and waited for him here, expecting a fight. And then the feel of James’s mouth on him. He shivers, his dick instantly hard again. He thinks he’s been hard all night, lying here next to James, soaking up the warmth of his body.
He turns onto his side. From the faint light spilling in through the window, he can make out James’s face on the pillow next to his. He’s still fast asleep, his face slack and his mouth open. Jack wants nothing more than to lean over and swipe his tongue inside that waiting mouth, but dear God, he has to pee now.
He takes forever getting up, trying not to disturb James. His knee is somehow wedged between Jack’s thighs and he slowly straightens the leg and eases along the wall until he’s at the end of the bed. James twitches in his sleep and rolls from his side onto his back, arms and legs splayed out now that he has the bed to himself. One leg is bent, giving Jack a perfect view of James’s cock, lying limp on his thigh.
Jack sighs and gets up, grabbing a towel off the back of a chair to wrap around him. He slowly creeps out into the hall, not wanting to turn on a light. He stands there for an agonized moment, trying to remember which room the voice came from. He guesses it was more to the front of the house and tries the door closest to him. A whiff of potpourri greets him. Success.
He closes the door and dares to turn on the light, blinking at his own reflection. The room is a hideous shade of yellow and there are doilies. He can’t picture James in here, shaving or ... doing anything, really. He shambles over to the toilet and raises the lid -- contentedly pissing away all the tequila. His hand on his cock, he replays how James’s mouth felt, where he put his hands, how he groaned, like he was maybe even more into than Jack was. He’s tempted to jerk off right there, but the cheap framed portrait of Jesus gives him pause. That, and the thought of James, still lying asleep and warm in bed.
He catches sight of himself in the mirror. He’s got a goofy grin on his face and he tries to force himself to look serious. But there’s this warm thrumming inside him and he can’t stop smiling. He knows what he’s going to do, and he’s already feeling the butterflies in his stomach. He splashes water on his face, acutely aware of how it trickles down his chin, down to his chest. He shivers, then shakes his head, closing his eyes. It’s no big deal, right?
He sees the mouthwash and impulsively swigs some and swishes it around his mouth. He goes to spit, then changes his mind and swallows. He holds his own gaze and nods. The grin is back.
He douses the light and takes a few seconds to let his eyes adjust. Making his way back to James’s bedroom isn’t so hard. James is still sprawled out, sheets and blankets tossed aside. Jack sits at the foot of the bed and bends over him, placing his hands on his thighs. He blows out a soft breath and James twitches in his sleep. He leans closer, lowering his mouth to the spot where James’s right thigh meets his torso. He licks along the line, tasting James’s musk. The muscle is taut under his tongue, like the rest of him, lean and hard.
James stirs softly, and Jack’s hand moves to his cock. He runs his fingers along the shaft, letting them curl around the head. It’s stiffening as he rubs his thumb over the slit. He thinks he can hear his own heart beating in the stillness as he waits for James to react. He doesn’t have to wait long. He darts his tongue out over the head, tasting the beads of moisture at the tip. He doesn’t exactly like the taste, but he doesn’t mind it either. He sinks his mouth over the whole head now, pressing his tongue firmly along the underside of James’s cock as he starts to suck in.
James gasps, awake now, his hands seeking Jack’s hair. He thrusts his hips up, breath coming in short bursts as he pulls Jack’s head closer. Fuck, he moans, and the sound shoots through Jack. He keeps going, emboldened by the effect he’s having on James. He’s jerking underneath him, hands desperately grabbing at his hair, his ears, running along his jaw. Fuck, Jack, oh, FUCK. His groans are getting louder and Jack stops, worried they’ll be heard.
“Shhh,” he hisses, and why does he have the horrible urge to laugh? James reaches out, fumbling for the bedside radio. A wailing guitar -- “... no one like you, I can’t wait for the nights with you” -- blares out suddenly and James hastily turns the volume down.
James is laughing too now, the muscles in his stomach and thighs shaking as he tries to swallow his moans, now barely camouflaged by The Scorpions. Jack remembers the vibration when James groaned with his mouth full of him, so he makes a low noise now in the back of his throat and James convulses and cries out, forgetting the need to be quiet.
Each moan of James’s surges through him until he’s so hard, he can just barely stop himself from humping the tangled sheets underneath him. He puts his frustration aside, focusing on James. He works his hands under James’s ass, gripping hard, pulling him deeper into his mouth as James thrusts up. He’s got the hang of this now, deep in a rhythm, tongue and hands working in synch and he feels a thrill of satisfaction as James tenses under him, his moans growing more desperate and louder, threatening to drown out the radio.
He’s not sure when he stopped being nervous that he was doing this wrong, when he started to enjoy himself, but when James’s whole body stiffens and he draws a long shuddering breath, Jack braces himself, that stab of fear coming back.
Christ, Jack, oh, Jesus, James cries, his body jerking hard and there’s a hot flood in his mouth and he just keeps sucking, careful not to gag. He has a moment’s panic, his queasy stomach threatening to spill over from all that tequila, but he fights it down. He keeps swallowing, hands clenched tight, keeping James pressed against his mouth until all of him goes limp. He lets him slip out and only then wipes his mouth. He swipes his tongue over his lips, memorizing the way James tastes.
He crawls up James’s body, and it’s his turn to moan now as James grabs him, running his hands over his chest and down his thighs, making him tremble as they close on his cock. James hooks a leg over his and pulls him closer, and then they’re sliding together, all sweat and heat and straining muscle and shuddering, shared breaths, until Jack is coming with a blinding rush, hands gripping James’s ass, head thrown back so hard it knocks against the wall.
He rubs his head, and James laughs, the sound rumbling deep in his throat, and when he finally stops and they hear only the small, tinny sound of the radio, they’re just now aware of how loud they’ve been. And that only makes them laugh harder as they try to shush the other.
They finally try to get some sleep but can’t get comfortable until they both turn on their side. Jack’s back is up against the wall and James is nestled against him, skin against skin, their bodies bent at the same angle.
Jack’s hand ends up on James’s thigh, and a tiny part of his brain is freaking out that he’s here, in bed with him, James’s ass pressed invitingly against his dick, except he’s too tired and this feels too right to do anything about it anymore tonight. His mouth is lined up behind James’s ear and he can’t resist a small lick to the back of his neck. James tastes the same all over.
When he wakes up again, the sun is already streaking through the window. He sees for the first time how small and cluttered the room is. The walls are covered with posters of rock bands and long-legged women draped over car hoods.
James is still sleeping, still curled up beside him. The morning sun illuminates each hair on his arm. He looks golden. He’s warm and he still smells like sex and it’s all Jack can do not to wake him up the same way again. His hand lingers on his thigh and then he reluctantly shifts him over. “I should get going,” he says. “My dad will be freaking out.”
He gets up, looking around the room for his jeans. They’re still damp, but he tugs them on anyway. His shirt is probably still on the ground outside somewhere, sunk in the mud. “Can I borrow a shirt?” he asks, picking a black T-shirt up from the floor at random. James sits up and nods sleepily, making a little complaining noise at the bright light.
He pulls the shirt over his head. It’s on the snug side, but it’ll do. It smells like James too, like maybe he wore it the day before. He finds his shoes and socks and now he’s dressed and James is regarding him blankly.
“OK, I’m gonna go,” Jack announces. James just nods. He’s too tired or hung over to do much more. Jack hovers uncertainly. “OK,” he says again. “See you later.”
James grunts and flops back down, putting the pillow over his face.
He lets himself out, closing the front door behind him softly. As he drives home, he imagines what kind of reaction he’s in for. But when he gets in, there’s no one waiting up for him, no sign anyone’s missed him. It’s still early, maybe only 6 a.m. He creeps upstairs, kick off his shoes and flops into bed. The king-size bed feels ridiculously big and it takes forever to warm up.