Jackson lowered himself to the ground with a grunt. His entire back was on fire. Infection had already set in, and he could feel a mild fever beginning to work its way through his system. The duffel bag in front of him was littered with dirty clothes and half-filled prescription pill bottles. He knew their contents by feel rather than by the faded labels in a myriad of languages he couldn’t read.
He grabbed what he was pretty sure was antibiotics and washed them down with what was left in his water bottle. The water was warm and stale. It tasted like plastic. Unsatisfied, he tossed the bottle in the general direction of the trashcan and dragged himself to the bed.
After leaving the burning mansion, he retreated to his backup hotel to lick his wounds. He always had a backup plan. Operations tended to go pear shaped with alarming regularity. While he had extra clothes and meds, it wasn’t his full stock. He couldn’t reach his back to treat the wounds and it wasn’t as if he could ask the hotel clerk, who looked to be all of twelve years old, to treat the wounds inflicted by a whip on his back.
He settled for showering and hoping the lukewarm water would wash them clean. It made him feel better at any rate.
Sliding on a pair of loose-fitting joggers he inspected his elbow. It probably needed a brace of some kind. Or ice. People iced their body when they got hurt, right? That was a normal thing to do.
Jackson preferred prescription painkillers and alcohol. Maybe some sleep.
He would have to settle for one of the two.
It was a cheap hotel room. Thin walls and no air conditioner. The window was propped open but all that did was let in the ambient noise from the street and the humid sluggish air. Fresh from a shower, he couldn’t tell if his skin was damp from the water in the tub or in the air.
Settling onto the too small mattress, he let his legs hang off the edge. Feet flat on the floor, it grounded him. Gave his swirling mind a place to latch onto. He was upright. He was fine.
It was always like this after a near death experience. Jackson had enough of them to know. Adrenalin hit his body like a freight train. It gave him the hyper focus and strength he needed to push through, the get himself out of a situation by the skin of his teeth. Adrenalin quashed his sense of self preservation and stoked the flames of his prodigious rage.
People like Jackson didn’t survive by being ordinary.
He discovered at an early age that he wasn’t ok. That the anger inside of him was blinding. When it burned brightest, he was capable of anything. Monstrous acts that he couldn’t even remember at times. As a teenager, it wasn’t unusual for him to be set off. He would see red, hear blood rushing in his ears, and then wake up somewhere hours later—blood on his knuckles and death in his wake.
Where he grew up, you didn’t waste talent like that. Through sheer force of will he wrangled his anger, pushed it down and made it submit to his will. Like a secret weapon, he let it flare to life when he needed it most. Inaccurate and devastating, it was a nuclear bomb leaving nothing left in its wake.
The aftermath was never pretty. His body suffered and his mind roiled. Memories blurred together and feelings he didn’t like came rushing to the surface.
I know.
Jamie’s words echoed around his brain, and he physically shuddered.
It was impossible. There was no way that little asshole could know. No one knew. Jackson didn’t even admit it to himself. To admit it would give it life.
But somehow the assassin had hit the nail on the head. Like the trained killer he was, he struck a devastating blow to Jackson with just a few words.
The worst part was that he was right. Insufferably smug, cheeky, an absolute dickhead in every sense of the word, but he was right.
Detroit had been a shitshow. It had ruined him in more ways than one, but he had made it out. Took the first flight to the farthest country he could find and stayed there. Distance was safe. Distance he could trust. Distance had always saved him from himself.
Distance kept him from doing something he would regret.
Jackson wasn’t ok, but there were moments when he felt like he could be. When he was with him. When that beatific face looked up at him with all the love and warmth his little body possessed. He wasn’t afraid of the demon lurking inside Jackson. Maybe he was too naïve to know better or maybe he was just too pure.
He fell asleep on Jackson’s lap, head lolling to the side and hand grasping at his. He didn’t find terror in the big man. He found peace.
Jackson didn’t know what to do with that. So, he ran. He ran from him. He ran from the feelings he knows he shouldn’t have.
Raking a hand down his face he breathed in and out. Once. Then twice. His head was in a bad place if he was thinking about this stuff. Most of the time he shoved these thoughts into the back of his head. Like pushing an old box of stuff he didn’t really need into an overfull closet—throw it in and then close the door, deal with the aftermath the next time you needed to open that door.
Three sharp knocks made him jump.
Grabbing the gun off the bedside table, he pushed himself up. His skin and muscles were stiff with disuse, an unpleasant tug and pull that would only get worse before it got better.
Lowering his eye to the peep hole, it took a moment for his vision to adjust.
“You gotta be fucking kidding me.” His forehead thunked against the door.
“Jacksoneeee!” Jamie cajoled from the other side of the door. “Open up.”
“Like hell,” He groused, double checking the deadbolt was thrown.
A flurry of erratic knocking rattled the door in its frame.
“I brought presents!” Jamie shook what he assumed was a plastic bag.
Jackson brought his eye back to the peephole. Jamie looked distorted in the curved glass. He was lifting up his left wrist where three shopping bags were banging against each other.
“I would rather pass a kidney stone than open this door.”
“I have whiskey.”
Jackson paused.
“And pain killers.”
He closed his eyes and pushed the temptation away. No. There was no way he was letting in that skinny psychotic ass—
“They’re from Mexico.”
Fuck.
He flipped the deadbolt and let Jamie open the door. Tossing the 9mm back onto the nightstand, he crossed his arms and glared at the kid.
Jamie kicked off his shoes and tossed the bags onto the bed. Still wearing the same clothes, he reeked of smoke and sweat. With one hand he unbuckled his holster and let the gun and leather fall to the floor at his feet.
“Guess I should have gotten Tequila,” He mused, staring at the bags. “Could have had a little Mexican fiesta.”
Jackson regretted letting him into the room.
Like he owned the place, Jamie flopped onto the bed and began digging through the bags he brought.
Three of them were plastic shopping bags but the third was bigger. It was a black garbage bag.
Snatching the bag, Jackson untied the top and stared into it.
“Why do you have a human head in a bag?” he asked with an eyebrow raised.
“Because I don’t have room in my pockets?” he responded as if it was obvious.
Jackson was going to kill Grant for letting this brat roam around unsupervised.
Before he closed the bag, he took a second look at the decapitated head nestled amongst the black plastic. He recognized him.
“Is this Carlos Pereira?”
Jamie pulled out a Styrofoam takeout container. He sniffed it experimentally and set it aside. “Yeah,” he paused. “I hope so, anyway. Bounty was for him.”
Jackson tied the bag before the stench of decay mingled with the smell of spiced ground beef coming from the food container.
“You took the bounty on him?”
Jamie had broken into the food, using a plastic fork to shovel rice and meat into his mouth. “Mhmm. Oh,” he shifted on the mattress so he could get to his back pocket.
Lifting his hand, he held a dime bag between two fingers. “Cocaine. It was all he had. Should be enough to cover what he owed you.”
He really shouldn’t have opened the door.
Sighing, he dug through the bags until he came across the promised pills. Jackson recognized them.
Shaking two from the bottle he tossed them to the back of his throat and chased them with the cheap Whiskey the kid brought.
Without anywhere else to sit, he dropped down beside Jamie.
Another box of food was pressed to him, and he took it warily. Flipping open the lid he saw it was plain rice, vegetables, and corn tortillas.
Jamie kept eating, contentedly humming like a child who was just given his favorite treat.
Jackson wanted to be angry that he seemed to know so much about him, but honestly at this point he was just impressed.
“How did you know?” he asked, taking out a tortilla and biting into it.
“How did I know about your sensitive tummy or about Detroit?” Jamie’s tone was innocent but there was an infuriatingly smug tilt to his lips.
“Both,” He ground out.
Jamie didn’t immediately answer. He chewed his food thoughtfully, swiping the warm bottle of Whiskey from Jackson to take a swig. He coughed as the rough alcohol hit the back of his throat. Hacking and breathing through his nose, he swung it back toward Jackson, spilling some on the ugly polyester comforter.
How had this kid even survived this long?
“There isn’t much I don’t know,” Jamie said once he could breathe again.
Jackson snorted in disbelief.
“I’m a sniper, Jackie. My whole job is to watch and wait. You’d be surprised how much you can learn just by watching.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Besides, you’re not as complicated as you think.” Jamie finished his food and tossed the container. “Turn around.”
He rummaged around one of the bags and produced a jar of cream. Jackson curled his lips in distaste, but Jamie rolled his eyes and clamored behind him, sitting on his legs so he could get at Jackson’s broad back.
The plastic cap unscrewed and then there was cold cream on his back. He grunted at the pressure on his wounds. Plastic cracked in his hands as he clenched the fork. Focusing on breathing and not on Jamie’s probing hands, he stared at the floor between his feet.
Being a sniper explained why Jamie was so good at reading people, but not how he knew about his brother. Or what happened in Detroit. Lan Xichen was the only one who knew about Detroit. He had killed everyone else. He couldn’t see Xichen giving the information away. Which brought him back to just who the fuck was this kid?
And why?
Why did he even bother?
He slathered the cream on his wounds. Jackson wasn’t familiar with the smell, but he could already feel it working. The pain in his back was diffusing.
Jamie’s hands were wandering past the wounds. Fingers trailed down his ribs to nestle at the rounded curved of his hip, lingering there long enough to leave a hint of warmth.
Looking up, he could see Jamie behind him in the mirror. His pale face was covered with ash and God knows what else, eyes half lidded as he looked at Jackson’s back with a kind of pleased reverence. Strands of his hair were blackened and crispy. At some point he had been caught in a fire.
From this angle, with his mouth finally shut, he wasn’t unappealing. There was a savage sort of beauty in the harsh angles of his hatchet face and in the cartoonishly expressive eyes.
He was like a different person from the one who laughed in the face of Jackson’s murderous hands. This Jamie was contemplative and steady, not at all manic or desperate. His presence was calm, so much so that Jackson even found himself leaning into his whispering touches.
Jamie was humming.
A soft sort of sound with no real melody or beat, just gentle vibration coming from somewhere low in his throat. It was nice. Stupidly nice. Jackson felt it soothe his agitation.
Jamie looked up and met his eyes in the mirror. They stared at each other in the reflection for a long moment before Jamie bent to lay a kiss on the knob of Jackson’s spine. Brushing his hair aside, he kissed up his neck. His eye contact was unwavering.
A cream covered hand reached around to tickle at his collar bones. Jackson caught it in a punishing grip.
Jamie grinned. “What’s wrong?”
“What do you want?”
His eyes sparkled with a little bit of that chaotic energy he had at the manor. Sitting up, he leaned over Jackson’s shoulder and took his pointer finger into his mouth. Lapping at the digit, he wrapped his tongue around the base and sucked the tip in. Pink lips clamped over the finger, sucking hard enough that his lips hallowed.
“God, ugh, that tastes awful.” Jamie screwed up his face at the taste of the cream on his lips.
“It’s a topical cream, dumbass.”
Jamie dragged his tongue along his front teeth in an attempt to rid himself of the taste.
The ham-fisted attempts at seduction were almost laughable. Almost. Unfortunately, while his brain told him it was pathetic, his dick most certainly did not agree.
His orgasms usually consisted of quick jerkoffs whenever he had a moment to himself. Far from satisfying, they were done out of necessity. Something he did for his comfort, but not enjoyment. Apparently, his dick was tired of his hand and thought the first person who threw themselves at him was good enough.
“If I wanted to fuck some twink there’s a million offering,” he sneered cruelly.
“Sure,” Jamie said, unbothered by the venom in his tone. “But you don’t want some dumb twink.” He
wiggled his way to Jackson’s side, ducking under his grip and popping back up against his chest like it was nothing.
“You don’t want someone to simper after you with cow eyes and ask for nice little head pats.” He practically purred. He got far too close for Jackson’s comfort, crawling right past his best ‘fuck off and die’ expression to nuzzle his nose under his jaw.
“You want someone who sees that look in your eye and doesn’t recoil. Someone who pushes themselves just as hard as you push yourself.”
Jamie dragged his lips along the joint of his jaw, not quite kissing, just letting his lips mouth at the stubble there. They were pink and warm, soft in a way they shouldn’t be. His breathing was moist and hovering against his skin, hotter than the humid air.
“I know exactly who you’re picturing when you feel my lips against you. Whose hand you want mine to be.” his free hand skimmed along Jackson’s thigh, dancing along the inside of his leg with featherlight touches. Almost like he was asking for permission. His dick twitched in interest.
Jackson felt his breathing hitch in his chest. It was having difficulty getting past his ribcage and all his blood was pooling in his lower abdomen.
His hand slipped up his inner thigh and grasped his semi-hard erection, fingers loosely grasping it through the soft pants.
“Does that feel good, Jackie?”
Distracted by his hand, he barely registered Jamie leaning up to lick at the corner of his lips. Instinctively he pressed them together. Jamie made a soft noise of protest, gently licking at the seam. He ran his stupidly soft tongue along the bow of his upper lip, stopping just at the apex so he could lay a chaste kiss to his unreciprocating lips.
“Kiss me, brother.”
Jackson inhaled sharply, grabbing Jamie and flipping them so he was straddling his slim waist. Again, his hand found its way around his throat—fingers sliding right into the bruises they had left earlier.
There was a bright glint in Jamie’s eye. An excitement that sent a shiver down his spine as he grabbed at Jackson, not in protest, but in pleasure.
Jamie was a matador in the middle of the arena. He snapped and cracked his red cape, taunting and enraging Jackson until he had no choice but the charge.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Jackson hissed, punctuating his question with a squeeze on his neck.
Jamie rocked his hips up, brushing his obvious erection against Jackson’s.
“I’m the guy who knows just how deep your brother complex is rooted, and still wants to fuck you anyway.” Jamie licked his lips lasciviously. “Doesn’t that turn you on?”
Jackson was horrified to discover that it did.
He dropped his head to kiss Jamie. It was punishing and cruel. He wanted to wipe that stupid shit eating grin off his face and make it contort in pain. Wanted to drag the cute little quips from his mouth and replace them with screams of painful pleasure.
Jamie eagerly parted his lips to the onslaught, gasping in ecstasy when Jackson bit down hard enough to draw blood.
Slender fingers scrabbled down Jackson’s sides, raking against his skin until they left marks behind. Their erections rubbed together, the fabric of their pants too punishing and yet not enough. Jamie released Jackson so he could yank his shirt off over his head.
He knew Jamie was slender, but he was unprepared for the definition in his torso. Long and lean, his skin was an expanse of alabaster broken up only by two dusky pink nipples that were already standing at attention.
Jackson marveled at how large his hand looked against Jamie’s chest. Fingers splayed out over his skin, he felt like he could palm his entire torso. Raking his palms up Jamie’s chest, he encountered something cold and metallic.
He hadn’t seen it in the low light of the room, but Jamie’s right nipple was pierced.
A subtle stainless-steel bar ran through the erect pebble. Experimentally, he flicked at the piercing.
Jamie shuddered, his back arching a little at the attention.
Jackson growled low in his throat. “I’m going to make you cry.”
“Promise?” Jamie bit back, eyes bright with defiance.
Jackson didn’t want to know why that manic look turned him on so much.
Lowering his face, he took the pierced nipple into his mouth. The metal was warm from being against skin, and the balls on the end rolled against his tongue. He sucked once, and then harder. Taking the metal in his teeth and pulling.
Jamie cried out, thighs clenching against Jackson’s hips and pressing their cocks together. He didn’t stop. Even when the kid squirmed and wriggled under his mouth, he pulled and bit at that piercing. Pulling so hard the skin was at its limits, threatening to tear, before relaxing again, sucking it into the back of his mouth.
“God, fuck. God.” Jamie mumbled. His hair was already a mess and eyes closed.
Frantically, he ripped at their pants. He got Jackson’s down farther than his own, but it was enough to free their trapped erections.
His slender hands couldn’t quite wrap around them both, but he could rub and rock his length against Jackson’s. It felt so delicious. The exquisite pull of the velvety skin rubbing against his. One—or possibly both—of their dicks was leaking like a faucet, coating them both in a wet sticky mess.
Jamie wrapped his legs around Jackson, crossing his ankles so he could hang off him like a horny three toed sloth, rubbing his dick against his in a frenzied fashion. Every time Jackson sucked and bit at his nipple, he jerked and shuddered, his mouth spilling obscenities that he definitely didn’t learn at Gusu Lan.
Pressing a knee to the bed, he lifted them both and managed to shuck both of their pants off.
He buried a hand in Jamie’s hair, tugging it until Jamie gulped and whined a little. His other hand slipped down his sides and got a handful of ass. It was as slender as the assassin, a globe of flesh that fit perfectly in the palm of his hand. With one hand he spread those cheeks, searching down the cleft until he felt that puckered hole.
Surprised, he lifted his head and looked down at him. “You already loosened up?”
“Mhmm,” Jamie said, a blush creeping up his cheeks that had absolutely nothing to do with shame. “In the alley behind the hotel.”
“You fucking slut.”
He laughed, reaching down to take Jackson’s thick girth in his hand. He swiped a thumb over the head and watched Jackson grunt in satisfaction.
“You like it.”
God, he really fucking did.
Rearing up, he flipped Jamie so that his face was buried in the mattress and his ass was in the air. From this angle, he could see the way Jamie’s shoulders tapered down to a slim waist. His hands fit perfectly in the groove there, thumbs meeting in the middle to hold him.
His cock erect, he pressed it to the top of Jamie’s ass. Rubbing the length along the cleft. Jamie shuddered as he felt the thick veins pressing against his ass. Jackson spread his cheeks so he could get a good look at that pink hole. He pictured this very hole being abused by Jamie, his hands down his pants as he hurriedly finger fucked himself in a dirty alley, head thrown back and eyes tightly closed.
Hooking a thumb in that tight hole, he felt the remnants of whatever lube he had used. It wouldn’t be enough.
Jamie was breathing into the mattress, thighs trembling in excitement.
“Like it when I look at your dirty hole?” Jackson rumbled as he reached for the cream Jamie had used on his back. Tossing the lid aside, he grabbed a liberal amount and slicked up his loose asshole.
Jamie glanced over his shoulder at him. “Wish you’d stop looking and start fucking.”
Jackson knew a challenge when he heard it.
“You want it so bad, come get it.”
He positioned the head of his cock at the entrance of Jamie’s hole and waited.
Fingers clenched in the blankets; Jamie pressed himself back tentatively. Jackson had a big cock. It fit well with his mammoth size. The mushroom head split Jamie open, pushing his rim farther than he had stretched it earlier.
The slowness with which Jamie eased himself back was torture for Jackson. Jamie had a big mouth, but his ass was tight as they come. Warm and inviting, it grabbed at Jackson’s cock like it was born for it.
Fingers digging into his hips, he jerked his hips forward and hilted his length so hard his balls slapped against Jamie’s taint with an audible slap.
“Jesus fuck—” Jamie cried, back arching.
Jackson jerked Jamie’s head up by his hair, pulling his back against his chest. The position of his dick changed and Jamie shuddered. He wasn’t even moving yet.
He stuffed his thick digits in Jamie’s mouth. Greedily, the kid sucked them in. Laving at them, his tongue rose to meet the thickened pads of his fingers.
Jackson started rocking his hips then. The slide and burn of flesh was too much and he was already embarrassingly close. Fingers hooked in his mouth, he pulled his shaft out until just the tip was stretching the oversensitive rim of his ass, before shoving it all the way in with a snap.
A few more times and Jamie was leaning back against Jackson and whimpering, his cock leaking thick drops of pre all over his thighs. Its reddened head rubbed against his flat stomach.
“You gonna cum, slut?”
Jamie bit down on his fingers. Jackson swore and shoved his head down into the mattress, hand on the back of his neck to press his face into the sheets.
Jackson glared down at Jamie as he licked the blood from his lips.
All patience gone, he leaned over Jamie and began truly fucking him. Like a well-oiled machine, he snapped his hips forward and jerked Jamie backward. The defiance left Jamie’s face after the second thrust, turning his face to the sheets to bite down on the mattress.
The headboard slapped into the wall as he fucked into Jamie, shoving the slender kid into the mattress with every thrust. His hair was a rat’s nest and there was an appealing flush creeping up his neck. His cock bounced against his stomach with every punishing blow. The smacking sounds of skin on skin was louder than the cries of pleasure spilling from Jamie’s panting mouth.
“Jesus Christ on a unicycle, Jackson harder. Fuck me harder.” He begged.
Shifting a little so that his thrusts were going up, he could feel that tight bundle of nerves. He set a punishing pace, the head of his cock brushing against the prostate with force.
Without being touched, Jamie juddered and came with a shout. His entire body seemed to fold in on himself as he came all over his stomach. Ripples of aftershocks waved across his body, and he tensed every time Jackson found that sensitive spot again.
When he orgasmed, his hole clenched around Jacksons cock, milking it, and dragging it back in with a desperation that shouldn’t have been as hot as it was. With every backwards pull he had to fight Jamie’s desperate body, warm and tight.
Limp from his orgasm, it took a moment, but Jamie finally rallied and pushed himself up. He glanced back at Jackson.
“I wanna ride you.”
Jackson didn’t have to be told twice.
He twisted them so he was laying on his back. Through the haze of arousal, he didn’t feel the pain in his back. His attention was on the skinny kid straddling him, lifting himself up and positioning his cock so that the wide head was about to split him in half.
There was something about those slender thighs on either side of his hips, and his proud cock rising between them that made Jackson groan in pleasure. Jamie looked truly ruined. His face was flush and eyes half lidded with the post orgasm haze leaving his body and the beginnings of fresh arousal returning. His right nipple was darker than the left, bruised and abused from Jackson’s cruelty earlier.
Dragging his fingers through the cum on his stomach, he slicked up Jackson’s cock. Fingers tracing along the protruding veins as he teased, his hole tantalizingly close. A warning growl rumbled from his chest and Jamie’s smirked smugly.
“If you want it so bad, come and get it.” Jamie reapeated, eyes glittering with the taunting challenge.
Jackson rushed up, snapping his hips into Jamie and latching his lips on his neck. His kiss was mostly teeth, punishing nips for his insolence. Jamie grabbed his shoulders, shaking with the force with which his erection split him open.
There were finally tears in his eyes, and he sucked on his lower lip with the sting.
Jackson liked that look on his face.
He wasn’t able to get as much movement from this position, but he was deeper. He could feel himself going farther into Jamie and stirring him up. Jamie was clutching him, head on his shoulders and mumbled curses and pants falling from his mouth.
Hilting his cock, he twisted them until Jamie was on his back with his legs up around his shoulders. Biting the soft flesh of his inner knee, Jackson took up his fevered pace.
Jamie reached down between them to roughly jerk himself off. It was a good look, and Jackson felt his own orgasm coming. Fucking so deep he could swear he saw the tip of his cock pushing against Jamie’s thin stomach, he watched Jamie come apart again.
This time he could see his face—eyes fluttering closed, back arching, and mouth slack as he coated his stomach for a second time. His entire body vibrated, contracting around him.
It was too much. He took those swollen lips in his and came in Jamie. He saw stars behind his eyes as it was ripped from him, hips shaking and fingers tightening on Jamie’s thighs hard enough to leave bruises. Thick, viscous semen dribbled out of Jamie’s abused hole and covered his thighs.
Jamie’s head lolled back and his eyes closed, legs falling limp off Jackson’s shoulders. He was blissed out. Ugly bruises peppered his body—fingerprints on his neck, hickies on his chest and neck, and blood dribbling from where Jackson had bitten his lower lip. Thick cum coated his stomach, already drying in the air.
Jackson slid out of him with a squelch, falling to his side beside the kid and staring at a tear trapped between his eyelashes. It danged precariously on the fringes of the dusky lashes, trembling for a moment before dropping.
The room was dark when he woke up. His back was sore, and he grunted as he rolled over. Before opening his eyes, memories of what he had done came flooding back to him. Snapping awake, he glanced down to find that he was naked but clean. Someone had even pulled the blankets over him.
A pleasant satiated sensation hummed under his skin—a far cry from the usual tornado of anger that he normally wrestled with.
Glancing around the room he found Jamie standing in a pool of moonlight. He was leaning against the wall and looking out the open window. Neon lights from the bar on the street splashed his face in a kaleidoscope of muted colors. From where he was laying, he could see his hair was damp.
Jamie had put his shirt back on but hadn’t bothered to button it up. It flared open so that a strip of pale skin flashed in the darkness. Jackson could see the dark bruises he had left on his skin. Small marks of ownership that gave him a strange sense of pleasure he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
“You cleaned me up.” It wasn’t a question.
Jamie turned from the window to look at him. “I’m not an asshole.”
“Yes, you are.”
His lips twitched in a smile.
There was a strange contemplative look on his face. Maybe Jackson would be able to read it if he knew him better. But he was finding there were sides to Jamie that he couldn’t even begin to contemplate.
Leaning against the wall with his shirt open and pants hanging low, he was one cigarette propped between two fingers away from being a noir character. Jackson could just picture the smoke curling up from around his lips, wafting up into the air.
“Why didn’t you and Grant work out?”
Jackson shouldn’t have been surprised. The list of things Jamie knew but absolutely shouldn’t was getting longer by the second.
They didn’t work out for a lot of reasons. Mostly because every time they made out, it turned into a competition to see who could get the other to submit. Two men with too much power and pride to acquiesce, anytime they got physical it turned into a fight for dominance rather than anything pleasurable.
The only thing they managed was to break a lot of furniture.
But more than anything, it was what they wanted. Grant liked taking care of people. He needed to be needed. There was a soft, fixer heart underneath his cool exterior.
And Jackson didn’t want to be fixed.
He wasn’t about to say that to Jamie. It didn’t seem like he had to. Jamie wasn’t really asking. The little shit probably already knew.
“Can I be honest with you?” he asked from the darkness.
“I wish you wouldn’t speak to me at all.”
Jamie pretended like he didn’t hear. He was good at that.
“You’re good at sex and you’re hot as fuck. But that…wasn’t as good as I thought it would be.”
Jackson wasn’t sure who was more offended: his pride or his dick.
“Seemed like you enjoyed it plenty.”
He snorted from across the room. “Yeah, in that way I did.”
His words didn’t make any sense. Jackson almost asked what he was talking about, but there was a wistful look on his face, and he got the impression he wasn’t actually talking to him anymore. Like he was figuring something out on his own and he didn’t like the conclusion.
Surprisingly, he found himself almost asking what he was thinking about. The words were already on his tongue when he bit them back.
He reminded himself that he didn’t care.
“Anyway,” Jamie shook himself. “I’m off.”
Jackson watched as he buttoned three buttons before grabbing his shoulder holster, swinging it on and buckling it into place. It was easy to forget just how deadly this kid was.
Jamie swung a leg out the open window and peered out.
“Don’t forget your head,” Jackson reminded him.
“Oh!” Jamie smiled bashfully, retracting his leg and swiping the black garbage bag. He shook it. “Thanks. That would have been embarrassing.”
And then he disappeared out the third story window.
Jackson flopped back on the mattress, hissing as his wounds caught on the sheets.
—-
Jackson and Jamie are part of a longer novel. This is just a snippet of their first time ;)
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Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/u9xe99/mm_the_mercenary_and_the_assassin
Holy gigantic wall of text. Try some better formatting.