Infuriating - Onley James Page 0,26
his cock until it tented his joggers.
Jackson pushed his two fingers in and out, watching them disappear into Day’s mouth. “Fuck, you are such a little tease,” Jackson growled.
Day scrapped his teeth along Jackson’s knuckles before pulling free and licking the palm of his hand. “Who’s teasing, Daddy?”
“You’ll do anything to keep from having to have a real conversation with me,” Jackson mused.
Day stopped short, his expression growing stormy. “Is that what you think I’m doing? Using sex so I don’t have to try to tax my brain by having an intelligent conversation with an adult?”
“Day—”
“Fuck you, Jackson.”
Day rolled off the bed and strode into the bathroom, slamming the door shut like a sullen teenager, locking it behind him as if Jackson might follow. Day looked at himself in the mirror. Way to fucking overreact, stupid. Now, he’s going to think we’re insane.
He was insane. There was literally no reason for him to have flipped out on Jackson like that. He barely knew the guy and Jackson had been nothing but nice to Day for the whole whopping two days they’d known each other. It was Day who was crazy. Day, who’d decided to invite Jackson into his bed and into his job. Day, who’d just turned a conversation about his safety into one about feelings and his virginity. Christ, he was fucking unstable. This was what came from locking himself away for the last three years, only associating with the outside world via computer.
There was a light knock on the door. “Day, I’m sorry I upset you, but you don’t have to hide in the bathroom.” Tears sprang to Day’s eyes, and he wiped at them, his eyes instantly going bloodshot to match his red face. “I made pasta. If you don’t want to eat with me, you can come get it and bring it to your room, or I’ll just leave it in the microwave for you for later.”
Day didn’t answer, just leaned against the wall, shaking his head. He needed to fucking pull it together. It was day two in Jackson’s home, and Day was already embarrassing himself by acting like a moody, clingy boyfriend.
Day removed his glasses and splashed some cold water on his face. When he opened the door to apologize, Jackson was gone. He peeked down over the living room to see Jackson on the sofa with his feet propped up on the coffee table, watching something sporty on the television. Day’s bowl of pasta sat on the table, a respectable distance from Jackson’s bare feet.
Day sighed, padding down the stairs barefoot and plopping down beside Jackson. He didn’t acknowledge Day, other than flipping the channel to something that didn’t involve watching somebody throwing or catching a ball. Day could have been offended by Jackson’s assumption that Day didn’t like sports, but he fucking hated sports and didn’t want to sit through a game to try to prove that he could like makeup and football when he just didn’t.
Jackson clicked onto a movie, and Day waved his hand, trying to swallow his pasta. “Go back. Go back. That’s the best movie ever.”
Jackson frowned, going back two channels, and laughed. “This movie? You want to watch Don’t Tell Mom the Babysitter’s Dead?”
“You disagree?” Day asked, leveling a stare at Jackson, daring him to disagree.
Jackson’s gaze softened, and Day realized that Jackson could see his blotchy face and red eyes. “It was okay, I guess,” he teased. “Can we at least start it over from the beginning?”
“Yes, please,” Day said, bouncing a bit in his seat as he stuffed another fork full of pasta into his mouth.
When nothing happened, Day turned to find Jackson just looking at him with a strange look on his face. “Whah?” he asked, his mouth still full of bowtie pasta.
Jackson just shook his head with a smile. “Nothing.”
A few presses of the remote’s buttons and the movie was starting over again. Once they finished eating, Day couldn’t help but notice how Jackson moved closer until they were almost touching. Day wanted nothing more than to close the distance between them and just wrap himself around Jackson’s arm and rest his head on his shoulder. Somehow, Day knew Jackson would let him, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. This was all a weird illusion, a false intimacy that came with being forced to play house together. Still, he glanced up at Jackson anyway.
When Jackson’s gaze strayed to Day and he saw him staring, he asked, “What? What’s wrong?”
“Sorry,” Day