While Gabe took the pills, Jack was taking the opportunity to ogle.
He was pretty good at it, ogling. At least insofar as he wasn’t totally obvious about it. Jack was an expert at the multitasker's ogle, i.e., doing something else to either hide or distract from the fact that he was staring. Given Gabe’s injury, he probably could’ve been more obvious about it and gotten away with it this time, but this, apparently, was one muscle that didn’t atrophy during his convalescence. Thank god.
This time, he said something inane – “Oh yeah, I’ve got a niece like that too, except she’s in her twenties and she can shoot better than me, what’s that about?” – without fully paying attention to what was coming out of his mouth, because what his eyes were taking in was a sight to see, that was for damn sure. Gabe had removed his jacket while he was out of the room, and while Jack was partial to hot guys in leather jackets, he was extremely partial to hot, sweaty guys whose muscles were practically outlined in permanent marker through their clingy shirts. His brain very quickly moved on from the reason why Gabe was so sweaty (not to mention why his knuckles looked like they’d recently scraped a brick wall) and instead moved on to straightforward appreciation of what he was seeing.
Though “appreciation” might have been a little bit of an understatement.
Watching Gabe’s neck as he took a drink of water, Jack very suddenly imagined running a finger under the other man’s jaw and down his throat. The vision was uncharacteristically vivid, full of tactile details that wouldn’t normally occur to him until fantasy became reality. Part of Jack was desperate to make it reality, but his better judgment won out for once and he broke his tempting train of thought by looking away and clearing his throat as casually as possible.
What was with him? He hadn’t been totally alone the whole time he was recuperating, but his one-track mind was acting like he had. Like Gabe was the first attractive man he’d seen in years. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Gabe wasn’t just attractive. Even (or maybe especially) a little rough around the edges, he was so goddamn hot Jack felt like his brain was melting.
Somehow he managed to get it together in time to hear Gabe’s question, but man, it was a close one. He looked back at Gabe with an eyebrow half-raised. “Oh, you didn’t catch that this is Lucky’s house, I just live in it?” He laughed, then swiped a hand through his hair before leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, it’s just me here, no roommates or anything. The aforementioned niece visits a lot, but she’s got a place in Santa Monica and commutes to San Francisco, so it’s not, like, a lot a lot.”
Jack nodded over at Matt, now sleeping with his mouth wide open and snoring gently. Hard to believe the strapping reincarnate of Han Solo was so adorable when he snored, but there it was. “Matt mentioned last time he was here that you guys do the long-term missions? That must be rough. Even with Clint on my side, I'm not sure I'd be cut out for that.” He paused, then tilted his head as he reconsidered. "Might be nice to get out of town for a change, though."