School of Fish (Fish Out of Water #6) - Amy Lane Page 0,100
banked sometimes, smoldering under the weight of busy lives.
“Thank you for the car,” Jackson whispered, and when Ellery gave a choked laugh, he realized that was the coward’s way out. “Thank you for the faith. Thank you for loving me and waiting for me to grow up.”
“Thank you for loving me and keeping me from being old,” Ellery whispered back.
Jackson pulled back and grinned at him, trying to ignore the burning in his eyes. “I thought I was making you old.”
Ellery grinned back, and then, very carefully, used his thumbs to wipe away the moisture under Jackson’s lashes.
“I don’t care which,” Ellery told him. “As long as you’re at least planning on us getting older together, I’m happy.”
“I am happy,” Jackson told him. And then he heard the words in his own head, and they filled him with wonder. “I am.”
Ellery gave a broken chuckle before bending over to kiss the top of Jackson’s head. “You don’t need to sound so surprised.”
“Well,” Jackson said, trying to keep his voice steady. “I… I didn’t think I’d ever be that way.”
Ellery was so quiet Jackson had to raise his face to see his expression. His prissy, uptight Counselor, who liked breakfast, lunch, and dinner exactly when breakfast, lunch, and dinner were supposed to be, and who knew how to dot every i and cross every t, looked as undone as a child surprised with Disneyland.
“What?” Jackson asked.
“I have no words,” Ellery said. “That’s the best compliment I’ve ever gotten. I love you.”
“Those are good words. I love you back.”
Jackson probably could have stared at him like that forever, but his strained stitches gave a twinge, and he must have given that away with his expression.
“You should get up,” Ellery said, standing so he could help Jackson to his feet.
“Yeah.” Jackson paused and saw Ellery’s extended hand, remembering a time when he would have forced himself up to prove that he could. To prove that he didn’t need any help, that he could take care of Jackson Rivers just fine, even though taking care of himself was probably the thing he was worst at. He reached up deliberately and took Ellery’s hand, allowing the leverage to pull him up. He stood, chest to chest with the person he loved most in the world, and closed the gap between them, feeling the moment. The heat of their bodies, the heat of their tears, the heat of their emotions—all of it searing him from the inside out, making him, remaking him, strengthening him so he could be strong enough to hold all the things. What they’d said, what they’d meant. He could handle the total combined weight of the love between them.
Ellery’s lips on his were salty but Jackson didn’t care. So were his own. A year they’d been doing this, but they’d lost a lot of that year because Jackson hadn’t known how to take care of himself, because he’d been hurt, body and soul, in so many different ways. It had taken them a year before their souls were as naked as their bodies, and a few tears were nothing, nothing at all, to kissing a person—to kissing the person—with his heart on his lips, his soul in his kiss, no veils of uncertainty between every touch.
They made it to the bed slowly, one item of clothing at a time. Jackson was hurt, but they’d loved each other before while dancing around wounds. This time, they brought each other off with mouths on cocks, the ultimate in reciprocation, and when Ellery cried out and thrust hard to the back of Jackson’s throat, Jackson clutched him closer, swallowing everything Ellery had to give, almost surprised when his own orgasm washed over him, Ellery’s eager mouth stroking him, pulling his come from his body without fear or reserve.
When they finally parted, each rolling slightly to lie faceup, their hands caressing the other’s thighs, Jackson knew his own hands were decidedly shaky.
They might have lain there forever, too, but there was a clatter of silverware from the dining room table, and Billy Bob streaked by the open bedroom door.
He appeared to be holding a pork chop in his mouth.
“Oh for fuck’s sake…. Fuck!” Jackson sat up too quickly and stretched the stitches they’d just been so careful of only moments ago.
“Is that cat eating your dinner?” Ellery asked, rolling to his side as Jackson got out of bed and limped slightly toward the kitchen.
“How do you know it’s not yours?” Jackson called over his shoulder.